| THE sluggish morne as yet undrest, | |
| My Phillis brake from out her East; | |
| As if shee'd made a match to run | |
| With Venus, Usher to the sun. | |
| The Trees like yeomen of her guard, | 5 |
| Serving more for pomp then ward, | |
| Rankt on each side with loyall duty, | |
| Weave branches to enclose her beauty. | |
| The Plants whose luxury was lopt, | |
| Or age with crutches underpropt; | 10 |
| Whose wooden carkases are growne | |
| To be but coffins of their owne; | |
| Revive, and at her generall dole | |
| Each receives his ancient soule: | |
| The winged Choristers began | 15 |
| To chirp their Mattins: and the Fan | |
| Of whistling winds like Organs plai'd, | |
| Untill their Voluntaries made | |
| The wakened earth in Odours rise | |
| To be her morning Sacrifice. | 20 |
| The flowers, call'd out of their beds, | |
| Start, and raise up their drowsie heads; | |
| And he that for their colour seekes, | |
| May find it vaulting in her cheekes, | |
| Where Roses mixe: no Civil War | 25 |
| Betweene her Yorke and Lancaster. | |
| The Marigold whose Courtiers face | |
| Ecchoes the Sun, and doth unlace | |
| Her at his rise, at his full stop | |
| Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop, | 30 |
| Mistakes her cue, and doth display: | |
| Thus Philis antedates the day. | |
| These miracles had cramp't the Sunne, | |
| Who thinking that his kingdom 's wonne, | |
| Powders with light his freezled lockes, | 35 |
| To see what Saint his lustre mocks. | |
| The trembling leaves through which he plai'd, | |
| Dapling the walke with light and shade, | |
| Like Lattice-windowes, give the spie | |
| Roome but to peep with halfe an eye; | 40 |
| Lest her full Orb his sight should dim, | |
| And bid us all good-night in him, | |
| Till she would spend a gentle ray | |
| To force us a new fashion'd day. | |
| But what religious Paulsie 's this | 45 |
| Which makes the boughs divest their bliss? | |
| And that they might her foot-steps strawe, | |
| Drop their leaves with shivering awe? | |
| Phillis perceives, and (least her stay | |
| Should wed October unto May; | 50 |
| And as her beauty caus'd a Spring, | |
| Devotion might an Autumne bring) | |
| With-drew her beames, yet made no night, | |
| But left the Sun her Curate-light. | |
| |
