Poem 5
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.
