EPITHALAMIUM.

The day is come, I see it rise, Betwixt the bride and bridegroom’s eyes; That golden day they wished so long, Love picked it out amidst the throng; He destined to himself this sun, And took the reins, and drove him on; In his own beams he drest him bright, Yet bid him bring a better night.

The day you wished arrived at last, You wish as much that it were past; One minute more, and night will hide The bridegroom and the blushing bride.  The virgin now to bed does go—­ Take care, oh youth, she rise not so—­ She pants and trembles at her doom, And fears and wishes thou wouldst come.

The bridegroom comes, he comes apace, With love and fury in his face; She shrinks away, he close pursues, And prayers and threats at once does use.  She, softly sighing, begs delay, And with her hand puts his away; Now out aloud for help she cries, And now despairing shuts her eyes.

Har.  Sen. I like this song, ’twas sprightly; it would restore me twenty years of youth, had I but such a bride.

  A Dance.

  After the Dance, enter HARMAN Junior, and FISCAL.

Beam. Come, let me have the Sea-Fight; I like that better than a thousand of your wanton epithalamiums.

Har.  Jun. He means that fight, in which he freed me from the pirates.

Tow. Pr’ythee, friend, oblige me, and call not for that song; ’twill breed ill blood. [To BEAMONT.

Beam. Pr’ythee be not scrupulous, ye fought it bravely.  Young Harman is ungrateful, if he does not acknowledge it.  I say, sing me the Sea-Fight.

        THE SEA-FIGHT.

Who ever saw a noble sight, That never viewed a brave sea-fight!  Hang up your bloody colours in the air, Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare; Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright, Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight.  St George, St George, we cry, The shouting Turks reply:  Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, Ply it with culverin and with small shot; Hark, does it not thunder? no, ’tis the guns roar, The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; Now each man must resolve, to die, For here the coward cannot fly.  Drums and trumpets toll the knell, And culverins the passing bell.  Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; Blow up the hatches, they’re off all again:  Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall; She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune’s wheel, She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel.  Who ever beheld so noble a sight, As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!

Har.  Jun. See the insolence of these English; they cannot do a brave action in an age, but presently they must put it into metre, to upbraid us with their benefits.