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Poem 7

by
 NOw is my loue all ready forth to come,
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt,
And ye fresh boyes that tend vpon her groome
Prepare your selues; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray Fit for so ioyfull day, The ioyfullst day that euer sunne did see Faire Sun, shew forth thy fauourable ray, And let thy lifull heat not feruent be For feare of burning her sunshyny face, Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus, father of the Muse, If euer I did honour thee aright, Or sing the thing, that mote thy mind delight, Doe not thy seruants simple boone refuse, But let this day let this one day be myne, Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy souerayne prayses loud wil sing, That all the woods shal answer and theyr eccho ring.

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