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Wake now my
loue, awake; for it is time,
The Rosy Morne long
since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her siluer
coche to clyme,
And Phoebus gins to shew his
glorious hed.
Hark how the cheerefull birds do
chaunt theyr laies
And carroll of loues praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft,
The thrush
replyes, the Mauis descant playes,
The Ouzell
shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft,
So goodly all
agree with sweet content,
To this dayes merriment.
Ah my deere loue why doe ye sleepe thus long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T'awayt
the comming of your ioyous make,
And hearken to the
birds louelearned song,
The deawy leaues among.
For they of ioy and pleasance to you sing,
That all
the woods them answer & theyr eccho ring.
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