PACK, clouds, away! and welcome, day! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft To give my Love good-morrow! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow: Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing! To give my Love good-morrow! To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them all I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast! Sing, birds, in every furrow! And from each bill let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cocksparrow, You pretty elves, among yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow! To give my Love good-morrow! Sing, birds, in every furrow! stare] starling. Thomas Heywood. 157?-1650 206. The Message YE little birds that sit and sing Amidst the shady valleys, And see how Phillis sweetly walks Within her garden-alleys; Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; Ah me! methinks I see her frown! Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go tell her through your chirping bills, As you by me are bidden, To her is only known my love, Which from the world is hidden. Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, See that your notes strain not too low, For still methinks I see her frown; Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go tune your voices' harmony And sing, I am her lover; Strain loud and sweet, that every note With sweet content may move her: And she that hath the sweetest voice, Tell her I will not change my choice: --Yet still methinks I see her frown! Ye pretty wantons, warble. O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber! Sing round about her rosy bed That waking she may wonder: Say to her, 'tis her lover true That sendeth love to you, to you! And when you hear her kind reply, Return with pleasant warblings. John Fletcher. 1579-1625 207. Sleep COME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving Lock me in delight awhile; Let some pleasing dreams beguile All my fancies; that from thence I may feel an influence All my powers of care bereaving! Though but a shadow, but a sliding, Let me know some little joy! We that suffer long annoy Are contented with a thought Through an idle fancy wrought: O let my joys have some abiding! John Fletcher. 1579-1625 208. Bridal Song CYNTHIA, to thy power and thee We obey. Joy to this great company! And no day Come to steal this night away Till the rites of love are ended, And the lusty bridegroom say, Welcome, light, of all befriended! Pace out, you watery powers below; Let your feet, Like the galleys when they row, Even beat; Let your unknown measures, set To the still winds, tell to all That gods are come, immortal, great, To honour this great nuptial! John Fletcher. 1579-1625 209. Aspatia's Song LAY a garland on my herse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say, I died true.