EDMUND SPENSER
But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe,
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to slcepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne,
The whiles an hundred little winged loves,
Like divers-fcthered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
Their prcty steal thes shal workc, and snares shal spread
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through covert night.
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will!
For greedy pleasure, carelessc of your toyes,
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes,
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone be day
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing,
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring.
Who is the same, which at my window peepes ?
Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright^
Is it not Cinthia, she that never slcepes,
But walkes about high heaven al the night ?
O' fayrest goddessc, do thou not envy
My love with me to spy.
For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,
And for a fleece of wool], which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thce brought,
Hit> pleasures with thee wrought.
Therefore to us be favorable now;
And sith of wcmcns labours thou hast charge,
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