_ A garland for my gift shall be
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
Robert Herrick
_ Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
_Mirt. _ And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
_Amin. _ O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
_Mirt. _ Not so, not so.
_Chor. _ But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
_Amar. _ But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
_Mirt. _ 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
_Amar.
_ A garland for my gift shall be
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
_Amin. _ And I will bear, along with you,
Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,
With oaten pipes as sweet as new.
_Mirt. _ And I a sheep-hook will bestow,
To have his little kingship know,
As he is prince, he's shepherd too.
_Chor. _ Come, let's away, and quickly let's be dress'd,
And quickly give--_the swiftest grace is best_.
And when before him we have laid our treasures,
We'll bless the babe, then back to country pleasures.
_White_, favourable.
214. TO THE LARK.
Good speed, for I this day
Betimes my matins say:
Because I do
Begin to woo,
Sweet-singing lark,
Be thou the clerk,
And know thy when
To say, Amen.
And if I prove
Bless'd in my love,
Then thou shalt be
High-priest to me,
At my return,
To incense burn;
And so to solemnise
Love's and my sacrifice.
215. THE BUBBLE. A SONG.
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
_Mirt. _ And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
_Amin. _ O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
_Mirt. _ Not so, not so.
_Chor. _ But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
_Amar. _ But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
_Mirt. _ 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
_Amar.
_ A garland for my gift shall be
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
_Amin. _ And I will bear, along with you,
Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,
With oaten pipes as sweet as new.
_Mirt. _ And I a sheep-hook will bestow,
To have his little kingship know,
As he is prince, he's shepherd too.
_Chor. _ Come, let's away, and quickly let's be dress'd,
And quickly give--_the swiftest grace is best_.
And when before him we have laid our treasures,
We'll bless the babe, then back to country pleasures.
_White_, favourable.
214. TO THE LARK.
Good speed, for I this day
Betimes my matins say:
Because I do
Begin to woo,
Sweet-singing lark,
Be thou the clerk,
And know thy when
To say, Amen.
And if I prove
Bless'd in my love,
Then thou shalt be
High-priest to me,
At my return,
To incense burn;
And so to solemnise
Love's and my sacrifice.
215. THE BUBBLE. A SONG.
