RIse thou best and brightest morning,
Rosie with a double Red;
With thine own Blush thy Cheeks adorning,
And the dear Drops this day were shed.
All the Purple pride of Laces,
The crimson Curtains of thy Bed;
Guild thee not with so sweet Graces,
Nor sets thee in so rich a Red.
Of all the fair Cheekt-Flowers that fill thee,
None so fair thy Bosom strows
As this modest Maiden Lilly
Our Sins have sham’d into a Rose.
Bid the Goldern God the Sun,
Burnisht in his Glorious Beams
Put all his Red eyed Rubies on,
These Rubies shall put out his eyes.
Let him make poor the Purple East,
Rob the rich Store her Cabinets keep,
The pure birth of each sparkling nest
That flaming in their fair Bed sleep.
Let him embrace his own bright Tresses
With a new morning made of Gems;
And wear in them 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 fair eyes.
And soon the sweet Truth shall appear,
Dear Babe e’r many days be done:
The Moon shall come to meet thee here,
And leave the long adored Sun.
Thy Nobler Beauty shall bereave him,
Of all his Eastern Paramours:
His Persian Lovers all shall leave him,
And swear Faith to thy sweeter powers.
Nor while they leave him shall they lose the Sun,
But in thy fairest Eyes find two for one.
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