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Shall strive to please : I have the foremost tract;
Each Season else begins and ends an Act.

[The Sun disappears.



DELIGHT. Spring. Welcome! The mother of the year, the

Spring, That mother, on whose back Age ne'er can sit, For Age still waits on her; that Spring, the nurse Whose milk the Summer sucks, and is made wanton ; Physician to the sick, strength to the sound, By whom all things above and under ground Are quicken’d with new heat, fresh blood, brave

vigour,That Spring, on thy fair cheeks, in kisses lays Ten thousand welcomes, free as are those rays From which thy name thou borrow'st; glorious

name, RAYBRIGHT, as bright in person as in fame!

Ray. Your eyes amazed me first, but now mine Feel your tongue's charm; in you move all the

Oh, lady! would the Sun, which gave me life,
Had never sent me to you!

Spring. Why? all my veins
Shrink up, as if cold Winter were come back,
And with his frozen beard had numb'd my lips,
To hear that sigh fly from you.

Ray. Round about me
A firmament of such full blessings shine,
1, in your sphere, seem a star more divine,



Than in my father's chariot, should I ride
One year about the world in all his pride.

Spring. Oh, that sweet breath revives me; if thou Part'st hence (as part thou shalt not), be happy ever!

Ray. I know I shall. Spring. Thou, to buy whose state Kings would lay down their crowns, fresh Youth,wait, I charge thee, on my darling.

Youth. Madam, I shall, And on his smooth cheek such sweet roses set, You still shall sit to gather them; and when Their colours fade, slike) brave shall spring again. Spring. Thou, without whom they that have hills

of gold Are slaves and wretches, Health! that canst nor be

sold Nor bought, I charge thee make his heart a tower Guarded, for there lies the Spring's paramour,

Health. One of my hands is writing still in Heaven, For that 's Health's library; t'other, on the Earth, Is physic's treasurer, and what wealth those lay Up for my queen, all shall his will obey. Ray. Mortality sure falls from me. Spring. Thou! to whose tunes The five nice senses dance; thou, that dost spin Those golden threads all women love to wind, And but for whom, man would cut off mankind, 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 ; 1 What bird, &c.] This is taken from the beautiful song of Trico, in Lily's “ Alexander and Campaspe."

his queen,

Jugg, jugg, jugg, terue she cries,
And, hating earth, to heaven she flies.

[The cuckoo is heard.
Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckoos sing
Cuckoo ! 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.


cuckoo again. Ha, ha! hark, hark! the cuckoos sing

Cuckoo! to welcome in the Spring.
Spring. How does my sun-born sweetheart like
Her court, her train ?

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

light Is a disease to th' wanton appetite. 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.

[Exit DEL. Pleasures, change! Thou as the Sun in a free zodiac range.

Re-enter DELIGHT.
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 morris. ,

1 A company of rural fellows, faced

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

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: shouldst thou be stol'n

away By great ones,

,--that's my fear. Ray. Fear it not, lady; Should all the world's black sorceries be laid

To blow me hence, I move not.

Spring. I am made
In that word the earth's empress.-

Are not these sports too rustic?

Ray. No; pretty and pleasing.
Spring. My youngest girl, the violet-breathing

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 Morris-dancers.]—and

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, sayst thou, fall’n in love with 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

me ?

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, 't would 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!

[Aside. Ray. Admired perfection, You set my praises to so high a tune, My merits cannot reach them.

Hum. My heartstrings shall then, 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: 't is 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

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