EDMUND SPENSER

But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite

When they their tymbrels smyte,

And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,

That all the sences they doe ravish quite;

The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street,

Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,

As if it were one voyce,

Hymen, io Hymen, Hymen, they do shout ;

That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill

Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;

To which the people standing all about,

As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,

And loud advaunce her laud;

And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing,

That al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Loe ! where she comes along with portly pace,

Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,

Arysing forth to run her mighty race,

Clad all in white, that scemes a virgin best.

So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene

Some angell she had beene.

Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,

Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene,

Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre ;

And, being crowned with a girland greene,

Seeme lyke some mayden Queene.

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold

So many gazers as on her do stare,

Upon the lowly ground affixed are ;

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,

But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,

So farre from being proud.

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