#EnglishWriters
A crystal vial Cupid brought, Which had a juice in it: Of which who drank, he said, no th… Of Love he should admit. I, greedy of the prize, did drink,
Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark! the God does play!
In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup’rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here,
Tears, though they’re here below t… Above, they are the Angels’ spice…
At draw-gloves we’ll play, And prithee let’s lay A wager, and let it be this: Who first to the sum Of twenty shall come,
By those soft tods of wool With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there, That paint the hemisphere; By dews and drizzling rain
Who with a little cannot be conten… Endures an everlasting punishment.
Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly Ki… Awake the Voice! Awake the Strin…
Truth by her own simplicity is kno… Falsehood by varnish and vermilion…
So smooth, so sweet, so silv’ry is… As, could they hear, the Damned w… But listen to thee (walking in thy… melting melodious words to Lutes o…
When all birds else do of their mu… Money’s the still-sweet-singing ni…
Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white… Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam
One night i’th’ year, my dearest… And bring those dew-drink-offering… When thence ye see my reverend gho… And there to lick th’ effused sacr… Though paleness be the livery that…
While fates permit us, let’s be me… Pass all we must the fatal ferry; And this our life, too, whirls awa… With the rotation of the day.
Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun,