Let now each Meade with flowers be depainted,
Of sundry colours sweetest odours glowing:
Roses yeeld foorth your smells so finely tainted,
Calme winds the greene leaves moove with gentle blowing,
The Christall Rivers flowing
With waters be encreased:
And since each one from sorrow now hath ceased,
From mournfull plaints and sadnes.
Ring foorth faire Nimphs your joyfull Songs for gladnes.
Let Springs and Meades all kinde of sorrow banish,
And mournfull harts the teares that they are bleeding:
Let gloomie cloudes with shining morning vanish,
Let every bird rejoyce that now is breeding.
And since by new proceeding,
With mariage now obtained,
A great content by great contempt is gained,
And you devoyd of sadnes,
Ring foorth faire Nimphs your joyfull Songs for gladnes.
Your fields with their distilling favours cumber
(Bridegroome and happy Bride) each heavenly power
Your flocks, with double Lambs encreas’d in number,
May never tast unsavourie grasse and sower.
The Winters frost and shower
Your Kids (your pretie pleasure)
May never hurt, and blest with so much treasure,
To drive away all sadnes:
Ring foorth faire Nimphs your joyfull Songs for gladnes.
Of that sweete joy delight you with such measure,
Betweene you both faire issue to engender:
Longer then Nestor may you live in pleasure,
The Gods to you such sweete content surrender,
That may make mild and tender,
The beasts in every mountaine,
And glad the fields, and woods, and every Fountaine,
Abjuring former sadnes,
Ring foorth faire Nimphs your joyfull Songs for gladnes.
Let amorous birds with sweetest notes delight you,
Let gentle winds refresh you with their blowing:
Let fields and Forrests with their good requite you,
And Flora decke the ground where you are going.
Roses and Violets strowing,
The Jasmine and the Gilliflower,
With many more, and never in your bower,
To tast of houshold sadnes:
Ring foorth faire Nimphs your joyfull Songs for gladnes.
Concord and peace hold you for aye contented,
And in your joyfull state live you so quiet:
That with the plague of jealousie tormented
You may not be, nor fed with Fortunes diet.
And that your names may flie yet,
To hills unknowne with glorie.
But now because my breast so hoarce, and sorrie
It faints, may rest from singing:
End Nimphs your songs, that in the clouds are ringing.
(Bartholomew Young)
More Poetry from Bartholomew Young:
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Sadness Poems, Pleasure Poems, Winter Poems, Singing Poems, Diet PoemsBased on Keywords: nestor, yeeld, tast, engender, jealousie, foorth, cloudes, grasse, rejoyce, distilling, betweene