The Golden Treasury. Unknown

To give my Love good-morrow

              Sing birds, in every furrow!

T. HEYWOOD.

      53. PROTHALAMION

           Calm was the day, and through the trembling air

           Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play—

           A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

           Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair;

           When I, (whom sullen care,

           Through discontent of my long fruitless stay

           In princes' court, and expectation vain

           Of idle hopes, which still do fly away

           Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain)

           Walk'd forth to ease my pain

           Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames;

           Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,

           Was painted all with variable flowers,

           And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems

           Fit to deck maidens' bowers,

           And crown their paramours

           Against the bridal day, which is not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           There in a meadow by the river's side,

           A flock of nymphs I chancéd to espy,

           All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,

           With goodly greenish locks all loose untied

           As each had been a bride;

           And each one had a little wicker basket

           Made of fine twigs, entrailéd curiously,

           In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket,

           And with fine fingers cropt full feateously

           The tender stalks on high.

           Of every sort which in that meadow grew

           They gather'd some; the violet, pallid blue,

           The little daisy that at evening closes,

           The virgin lily and the primrose true:

           With store of vermeil roses,

           To deck their bridegrooms' posies

           Against the bridal day, which was not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           With that I saw two swans of goodly hue

           Come softly swimming down along the lee;

           Two fairer birds I yet did never see;

           The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow,

           Did never whiter show,

           Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be

           For love of Leda, whiter did appear;

           Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,

           Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near;

           So purely white they were,

           That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,

           Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare

           To wet their silken feathers, lest they might

           Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair,

           And mar their beauties bright

           That shone as Heaven's light

           Against their bridal day, which was not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill,

           Ran all in haste to see that silver brood

           As they came floating on the crystal flood;

           Whom when they saw, they stood amazéd still

           Their wondering eyes to fill;

           Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair

           Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem

           Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair

           Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team;

           For sure they did not seem

           To be begot of any earthly seed,

           But rather angels, or of angels' breed;

           Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say,

           In sweetest season, when each flower and weed

           The earth did fresh array;

           So fresh they seem'd as day,

           Even as their bridal day, which was not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           Then forth they all out of their baskets drew

           Great store of flowers, the honour of the field,

           That to the sense did fragrant odours yield,

           All which upon those goodly birds they threw

           And all the waves did strew,

           That like old Peneus' waters they did seem

           When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore

           Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream,

           That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store,

           Like a bride's chamber-floor.

           Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound

           Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found,

           The which presenting all in trim array,

           Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd

           Whilst one did sing this lay

           Prepar'd against that day,

           Against their bridal day, which was not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           "Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament,

           And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour

           Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower,

           Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content

           Of your loves complement;

           And let fair Venus, that is queen of love,

           With her heart-quelling son upon you smile,

           Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove

           All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile

           For