An Anniversary On The Hymeneals Of My Noble kinsman, Tho S

                  I.

    The day is curl'd about agen

    To view the splendor she was in;

        When first with hallow'd hands

The holy man knit the mysterious bands

When you two your contracted souls did move

        Like cherubims above,

            And did make love,

As your un-understanding issue now,

In a glad sigh, a smile, a tear, a vow.

                  II.

    Tell me, O self-reviving Sun,

    In thy perigrination

        Hast thou beheld a pair

Twist their soft beams like these in their chast air?

As from bright numberlesse imbracing rayes

        Are sprung th' industrious dayes,

            So when they gaze,

And change their fertile eyes with the new morn,

A beauteous offspring is shot forth, not born.

                  III.

    Be witness then, all-seeing Sun,

    Old spy, thou that thy race hast run

        In full five thousand rings;

To thee were ever purer offerings

Sent on the wings of Faith? and thou, O Night,

        Curtain of their delight,

            By these made bright,

Have you not mark'd their coelestial play,

And no more peek'd the gayeties of day?

                  IV.

    Come then, pale virgins, roses strow,

    Mingled with Ios as you go.

        The snowy ox is kill'd,

The fane with pros'lyte lads and lasses fill'd,

You too may hope the same seraphic joy,

        Old time cannot destroy,

            Nor fulnesse cloy;

When, like these, you shall stamp by sympathies

Thousands of new-born-loves with your chaste eyes.