Early before the day doth spring
Let us awake, my Muse, and sing,
It is no time to slumber:
So many joys this time doth bring
As time will fail to number.

But whereto shall we bend our lays?
Even up to heaven, again to raise
The maid which, thence descended,
Hath brought again the golden days
And all the world amended.

Rudenesse it self she doth refine,
Even like an alchemist divine,
Gross times of iron turning
Into the purest form of gold,
Not to corrupt till heaven wax old,
And be refined with burning.


Eternal Virgin, Goddesse true,
Let me presume to sing to you.
Iove, even great Love hath leasure
Sometimes to heare the vulgar crue,
And heares them oft with pleasure.

Blessed Astrĉa, I in part
Enjoy the blessings you impart;
The Peace, the milke and hony,
Humanitie, and civil Art,
A richer dower then money.

Right glad am I that now I live,
Even in these days wheret you give
Great happinesse and glory;
If after you I should be borne,
No doubt I should my birth-day scorne,
Admiring your sweet storie.


Earth now is green, and heaven is blew,
Lively Spring which makes all new,
Iolly Spring, doth enter;
Sweete yong sun-beames doe subdue
Angry, aged Winter.

Blasts are milde, and seas are calme,
Every meadow flowes with balme,
The Earth weares all her riches;
Harmonious birdes sing such a psalme,
As eare and heart bewitches.

Reserue (sweet Spring) this Nymph of ours,
Eternal garlands of thy flowers,
Green garlands neuer wasting;
In her shall last our State's faire Spring,
Now and for euer flourishing,
As long as Heaven is lasting.


Each day of thine, sweet moneth of May,
Love makes a solemne holy-day.
I will performe like duty,
Sith thou resemblest every way
Astrĉa, Queen of beauty,

Both you fresh beauties do pertake,
Either's aspect doth Summer make,
Thoughts of young love awaking;
Hearts you both doe cause to ake,
And yet be pleased with akeing.

Right dear art thou, and so is she,
Even like attractive sympathy,
Gaines unto both like dearenesse;
I weene this made Antiquitie
Name thee, sweet May of Maiestie,
As being both like in clearnesse.


Earley, cheerful, mounting Larke,
Light's gentle usher, Morning's clark,
In merry notes delighting;
Stint awhile thy song, and harke,
And learne my new inditing.

Beare up this hymne, to heau'n it beare,
Even up to heau'n, and sing it there,
To heau'n each morning beare it;
Have it set to some sweet sphere,
And let the Angels heare it.

Renownd Astrĉa, that great name,
Exceeding great in worth and fame,
Great worth hath so renownd it;
It is Astrĉa's name I praise,
Now then, sweet Larke, do thou it raise,
And in high Heaven resound it.


Every night from even till morne,
Love's Quirister amidde the thorne
Is now so sweet a singer;
So sweet, as for her song I scorne
Apollo's voice, and finger.

But Nightingale, sith you delight
Ever to watch the starry night;
Tell all the starres of heaven,
Heaven never had a starre so bright,
As now to Earth is given.

Royal Astrĉa makes our day
Eternal with her beames, nor may
Grosse darknesse overcome her;
I now perceive why some doe write,
No country hath so short a night,
As England hath in Summer.


Eye of the Garden, Queene of flowers,
Love's cup wherein he nectar powres,
Ingendered first of nectar;
Sweet nurse-child of the Spring's young howres,
And Beautie's faire character.

Best iewell that the Earth doth weare,
Even when the brave young sunne draws neare,
To her hot Love pretending;
Himself likewise like forme doth beare,
At rising and descending.

Rose of the Queene of Love belou'd;
England's great Kings divinely mou'd,
Gave Roses in their banner;
It shewed that Beautie's Rose indeed,
Now in this age should them succeed,
And raigne in more sweet manner.