It was the Winter wilde, While the Heav’n-born-childe, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in aw to him Had doff’t her gawdy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour. Only with speeches fair She woo’s the gentle Air To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinfull blame, The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw, Confounded, that her Makers eyes Should look so neer upon her foul deformities. But he her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyd Peace, She crown’d with Olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphear His ready Harbinger, With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing, And waving wide her mirtle wand, She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land. No War, or Battails sound Was heard the World around, The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hookèd Chariot stood Unstain’d with hostile blood, The Trumpet spake not to the armèd throng, And Kings sate still with awfull eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peacefull was the night Wherin the Prince of light His raign of peace upon the earth began: The Windes with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. The Stars with deep amaze Stand fixt in stedfast gaze, Bending one way their pretious influence, And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn’d them thence; But in their glimmering Orbs did glow, Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferiour flame, The new enlightn’d world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear. The Shepherds on the Lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sate simply chatting in a rustick row; Full little thought they than, That the mighty Pan Was kindly com to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep. When such musick sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortall finger strook, Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringèd noise, As all their souls in blisfull rapture took The Air such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echo’s still prolongs each heav’nly close.