| |
| AWAKE, 1 my Muse, and from this slumb’ring trance | |
| Lightly arise, and on thy wings advance | |
| Thy nimble-soaring spirit to the sunne, | |
| Above the clouds that yet doe overrunne | |
| Thy bright-ey’d beauty! Rowse away this dream, | 5 |
| That eddies in thy braine, like to a stream, | |
| Whose giddy windings with plebeian stormes | |
| Turne and returne, begetting sundry formes. | |
| What though my sighs like clouds do fill the aire, | |
| Thinke it not night: nor let us so duspaire, | 10 |
| As fainting to lye down in sorrowes deepe, | |
| And there take up our last, eternall sleepe. | |
| No, no; shake off the dewfalls of the night | |
| That dampe thy plumes, and soare into the light | |
| With cheerfull notes; whilst I retir’d, sit still, | 15 |
| Sighing a sad faburthen from my quill | |
| To thy more nimble warblings. Let not feare | |
| Distract our hopes: there’s One above will heare, | |
| If all the world neglect us. And for rumours, | |
| Breath’d from the vulgar, which are only tumours | 20 |
| And swelling water-bubbles, that together | |
| Doe rise and fall, according to the weather, | |
| Why should we feare them? Let the inward man | |
| Looke upward, then doe Envy when she can. | |
| Set therefore now thy voice in tune to mine, | 25 |
| In descant manner; and again to thine | |
| I’le tune a ground; and both together we, | |
| Two parts in one, so sweetly will agree, | |
| As, whilst the rabble and rude multitude | |
| With their vncivill clamours doe intrude, | 30 |
| Breaking all law and right, true musick’s lore, | |
| We will in tune them out of tune deplore. | |
