NEW YEAR’S
DAY
Rise, thou best & brightest morning!
Rosy with a double Red;
With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning,
And the dear drops this day were shed.
All the purple pride that laces
The crimson curtains of thy bed,
Gilds thee not with so sweet graces,
Nor setts thee in so rich a red.
Of all the fair-cheek’t flowrs that fill thee
None so fair thy bosom strowes,
As this modest maiden lily,
Our sins have sham’d into a rose.
Bid thy golden God, the Sun,
Burnisht in his best beams rise,
Put all his red-ey’d Rubies on;
Those Rubies shall putt out their eyes.
Let him make poor the purple east,
Search what the world’s close cabinets keep,
Rob the rich births of each bright nest,
That flaming in their fair beds sleep,
Let him embraue his own bright tresses
With a new morning made of gemmes;
And wear, in those his wealthy dresses,
Another Day of Diadems.
When he hath done all he may,
To make himself rich in his rise,
All will be darkness to the Day
That breaks from one of these bright eyes.
And soon this sweet truth shall appear,
Dear BABE, e’er many days be done:
The moon shall come to meet thee here,
And leaue her own neglected Sun.
Here are Beautyes shall bereaue him,
Of all his eastern Paramours:
His Persian lovers all shall leaue him,
And swear faith to thy sweeter Powres.
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