E ACH month hath praise in some degree, L et May to others seem to be I n Sense, the sweetest season; S eptember! thou are best to me! A nd best doth please my Reason. B ut neither for their corn, nor wine; E xtol I, those mild days of thine! T hough corn and wine might praise thee; H eaven gives thee honour more divine A nd higher fortunes raise thee! R enowned art thou, sweet Month! for this. E mong thy days, her birthday is! G race, Plenty, Peace, and Honour I n one fair hour with her were born! N ow since, they still her crown adorn, A nd still attend upon her. HYMN XI. _To the Sun._ E YE of the world! Fountain of light! L ife of day, and death of night! I humbly seek thy kindness! S weet! dazzle not my feeble sight, A nd strike me not with blindness! B ehold me mildly from that face E ven where thou now dost run thy race, T he sphere where now thou turnest, H aving, like PHÆTON changed thy place, A nd yet hearts only burnest. R ed in her right cheek, thou dost rise E xalted after, in her eyes; G reat glory, there, thou shewest! I n th'other cheek, when thou descendest, N ew redness unto it thou lendest! A nd so thy Round, thou goest! HYMN XII. _To her Picture._ E XTREME was his audacity, L ittle his skill, that finished thee! I am ashamed and sorry, S o dull her counterfeit should be; A nd She, so full of glory! B ut here are colours, red and white; E ach line, and each proportion right: T hese lines, this red and whiteness, H ave wanting yet a life and light, A majesty and brightness. R ude counterfeit! I then did err; E ven now, when I would needs infer G reat boldness in thy maker! I did mistake! He was not bold, N or durst his eyes, her eyes behold: A nd this made him mistake her. HYMN XIII. _Of her Mind._ E ARTH, now adieu! My ravished thought L ifted to heaven, sets thee at nought! I nfinite is my longing, S ecrets of angels to be taught, A nd things to heaven belonging! B rought down from heaven, of angels' kind, E ven now, do I admire her Mind! T his is my contemplation! H er clear sweet Spirit, which is refined A bove humane creation! R ich sunbeam of th' Eternal Light! E xcellent Soul! How shall I write? G ood angels make me able! I cannot see but by your eye; N or but by your tongue, signify A thing so admirable. HYMN XIV. _Of the Sunbeams of her Mind._ E XCEEDING glorious is this Star! L et us behold her beams afar I n a side line reflected! S ight bears them not, when near they are A nd in right lines directed. B ehold her in her virtue's beams, E xtending sun-like to all realms! T he sun none views too nearly. H er well of goodness, in these streams, A ppears right well and clearly.