Come loyall harts, make no delay,
the old yeare’s Dead,
and in his stead,
the rosy morning doth display
a glorious, bright new yeare.
Make hast then, come away.
our dutieys Let’s express, wth voyces cleare,
and well tun’d Noates.
yet sweetly, sweetly Let us sing our Voates,
and gently, gently touch the stringes:
Least from our Sovraigns eyes,
a sleep far sweeter ryes:
then is the voice that sings
they must beware that waken Kings.
Long may our Sovraygne raigne, and still be best
of Kings: and patterne to the rest.
may all the Minutes of his Life,
pass slowlye on, as if they were at strife,
wch Longest should have leave to stay,
and bring him furthest on his way.
and whilst unwillingly they pass,
Let them track time on other pace,
that the old Syrr, may take a pleasure
to wayte on him at greater Leasure.
Meane whyle, Let us, whose faculties abound,
in nothing but in Ayre, and sound:
wth hart and voice prophetically sing;
this yeare propitiously shall bring,
increase of Empire, with blest Issue, to the King.
Nich: Lanier
|