Epithalamion


Tell me ye merchant daughters did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before
So sweet, so lovely and as mild as she
Adorn'd with beauty's grace and virtue's store

Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright
Her forehead ivory white
Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath reddened
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite
Her breast like a bowl of cream uncurdled

Behold while she before the altar stands
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks
And blesseth her with his two happy hands
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks
And the pure snow with goodly vermeil stain
Like crimson dyed in grain

That even the angels with continually
About the sacred altar do remain
Forget their service and about her fly
Oft peeping in her face that seems more fair
The more they on it stare

But her sad eyes still fastened on the ground
And governed with goodly modesty
That suffers not one look to glance awry
Which may let in a little though unsound
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand
The pledge of all our band?

Sing ye sweet angels, Alleluia sing
That all the woods may answer and your echoes ring


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