Delight! not base, but noble, touch thy lyre,
And fill my court with brightest Delphic fire.
Del. Hover, you wing'd musicians, in the air!
Clouds, leave your dancing! no winds stir but
fair!

Health. Leave blustering March—

SONG by DELIGHT.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail ?*
'Tis Philomel, the nightingale;
Jugg, jugg, jugg, terue she cries,
And, hating earth, to heaven she flies.

[The cuckow is heard.

Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckows sing
Cuckow! to welcome in the Spring.

Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?
'Tis the lark's silver leer-a-leer.

How at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.

[The cuckow again.

Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckows sing
Cuckon! to welcome in the Spring.

Spring. How does my sun-born sweetheart like his queen,

Her court, her train?

Ray. Wondrous; such ne'er were seen. Health. Fresher and fresher pastimes! one delight

Is a disease to th' wanton appetite.

What bird, &c.] This is taken from the beautiful song of

Trico, in Lily's" Alexander and Campaspe."

Del. Music, take Echo's voice, and dance quick

rounds

To thine own times in repercussive sounds.

[An echo of Cornets.

Spring. Enough! I will not weary thee.

Pleasures, change!

Thou as the Sun in a free zodiac range.

Re-enter DELIGHT,

[Exit DEL.

Del. A company of rural fellows, faced* Like lovers of your laws, beg to be graced Before your highness, to present their sport. Spring. What is't?

Del. A morrice.

Spring. Give them our court.

Stay, these dull birds may make thee stop thine

ear;

Take thou my lightning, none but laurel here Shall scape thy blasting: whom thou wilt confound,

Smite; let those stand, who in thy choice sit crown'd.

Ray. Let these then, I may surfeit else on

sweets;

Sound sleeps do not still lie in princes' sheets.

Spring. Beckon the rurals in; the country-gray Seldom ploughs treason: should'st thou be stol'n

t 1 company of rural fellows, faced

Like lovers of your laws.] i. e. with youthful, ruddy, cheerful countenances.GIFFORD.

Ray. Fear it not, lady;

Should all the world's black sorceries be laid

Enter the MORRICE-DANCERS.

To blow me hence, I move not,
Spring. I am made

In that word the Earth's empress.

A DANCE.

Are not these sports too rustic?
Ray. No; pretty and pleasing.

Spring. My youngest girl, the violet-breathing
May,

Being told by Flora that my love dwelt here,
Is come to do you service; will you please
To honour her arrival?

Ray. I shall attend.

Spring. On then,

[Exeunt Morrice-dancers.

and bid my rosy-finger'd May

Rob hills and dales, with sweets to strew his

way.

[Exit, followed by YOUTH and HEALTH.

Enter FOLLY, and whispers RAYBRIGHT.

Ray. An empress, say'st thou, fall'n in love with me?

Fol. She's a great woman, and all great women love to be empresses; her name, the lady Humour. Ray. Strange name! I never saw her, knew her not;

What kind of creature is she?

Fol. Creature! of a skin soft as pomatum, sleek as jelly, white as blanched almonds; breath, sweet

as a monkey's; lips of cherries, teeth of pearl, eyes of diamond, foot and leg as

Ray. My admiration wastes itself in longings To see this rare piece: I'll see her; what are kings,

Were not their pleasures varied? shall not mine, then?

Should day last ever, 'twould be loath'd as night;
Change is the sauce that sharpens appetite.
The way ? I'll to her.

Fol. Look you, I do but wind this cornet, and if another answer it, she comes.

Ray. Be quick then!

[FOLLY winds his cornet, and is answered from without.

Enter HUMOUR, followed by a Soldier, a Spaniard, an Italian dancer, and a French tailor.

Hum. Is this that flower the Spring so dotes upon?

Fol. This is that honeysuckle she sticks in her ruff. Hum. A bedfellow for a fairy!

Ray. Admired perfection,

You set my praises to so high a tune,

My merits cannot reach them.

Hum. My heart-strings shall then,

[Aside.

As mine eye gives that sentence on thy person,
And never was mine eye a corrupt judge.

That judge to save thee would condemn a world,
And lose mankind to gain thee: 'tis not the Spring,
With all her gaudy arbours, nor perfumes
Sent up in flattering incense to the Sun,
For shooting glances at her, and for sending

Whole choirs of singers to her every morn,
With all her amorous fires, can heat thy blood
As I can with one kiss.

Ray. The rose-lipp'd dawning

Is not so melting, so delicious:

Turn me into a bird, that I may sit

Still singing in such boughs.

Hum. What bird?

Fol. A ring-tail.

Hum. Thou shalt be turn'd to nothing but to mine,

My Mine of pleasures, which no hand shall rifle But this, which in warm nectar bathes the palm. Invent some other tires! Music!-stay,-none!Fol. Heyday!

Hum. New gowns, fresh fashions! I'm not brave enough

To make thee wonder at me.

Ray. Not the moon,

Riding at midnight in her crystal chariot,
With all her courtiers in their robes of stars,
Is half so glorious.

Hum. This feather was a bird of Paradise;
Shall it be your's?

Ray. No kingdom buys it from me.

Fol. Being in fool's paradise he must not lose his bauble.

Ray. I am wrapt above man's being, in being sphered

In such a globe of rarities; but say, lady,
What these are that attend you?

Hum. All my attendants

Shall be to thee sworn servants.