Chorus.
Come we Shepheards who have seen
Days King deposed by Nights Queen.
Come lift we up our lofty Song,
To wake the Sun that sleeps too long.

He in this our general Joy,
Slept, and Dreamt of no such thing
While we found out the fair-ey’d Boy,
And kist the Cradle of our King;
Tell him he rises now too late,
To shew us ought worth looking at.

Tell him we now can shew him more
Then he e’r shew’d to Mortal sight,
Then he himself e’r saw before,
Which to be seen needs not his Light:
Tell him Tityrus where th’ hast been,
Tell him Thyrsis what th’ hast seen.

Tityrus.
Gloomy Night, embrac’t the place
Where the Noble Infant lay:
The Babe lookt up, and shew’d his Face,
In spight of Darkness it was Day.
It was thy Day, Sweet, and did rise,
Not from the East, but from thy Eyes.

Thyrsis.
Winter chid the World, and sent
The angry North to wage his Wars:
The North forgot his fierce intent,
And left Perfumes instead of Scars:
By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers,
Where he meant Frosts, he scattered Flowers.

Both.
We saw thee in thy Balmy-Nest,
Bright Dawn of our Eternal Day;
We saw thine Eyes break from the East,
And chase the trembling Shades away:
We saw thee (and we blest the sight)
We saw thee by thine own sweet Light.

Tityrus.
I saw the curl’d Drops, soft and slow
Come hovering o’r the places head,
Offring their whitest sheets of Snow,
To furnish the fair Infants Bed.
Forbear (said I) be not too bold,
Your Fleece is white, but ’tis too cold.

Thyrsis.
I saw th’ Officious Angels bring,
The Down that their soft Brests did strow,
For well they now can spare their Wings,
When Heaven it self lies here below,
Fair Youth, (said I) be not too rough,
Your Down though soft’s not soft enough.

Tityrus.
The Babe no sooner ’gan to seek,
Where to lay his Lovely Head,
But streight his Eyes advis’d his Cheek,
’Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to Bed.
Sweet choise (said I) no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in Snow.

All.
Welcome to our wondring sight
Eternity shut in a Span!
Summer in Winter! Day in Night!

Chorus.
Heaven in Earth! and God in Man!
Great little one, whose Glorious Birth,
Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to Earth.

Welcome, though not to Gold, nor Silk,
To more then Cesar’s Birth-right is.
Two Sister-Seas of Virgins Milk,
With many a rarely-temper’d Kiss,
That Breaths at once both Maid and Mother,
Warms in the one, cools in the other.

She sings thy Tears asleep, and dips
Her Kisses in thy weeping Eye,
She spreads the red Leaves of thy Lips,
That in their Buds yet Blushing lye.
She ’gainst those Mother Diamonds tryes
The points of her young Eagles Eyes.

Welcome, (though not to those gay Flies
Gilded i’ th’ Beams of Earthly Kings
Slippery Souls in smiling Eyes)
But to poor Shepheards, simple things,
That use no Varnish, no oyl’d Arts,
But life clean Hands full of cleer Hearts.

Yet when young Aprils Husband Showers,
Shall Bless the fruitful Maia’s Bed,
We’ll bring the first-born of her Flowers,
To Kiss thy Feet, and Crown thy Head.
To thee (Dread Lamb,) whose Love must keep
The Shepheards, while they feed their Sheep.

To thee meek Majesty, soft King
Of simple Graces and sweet Loves,
Each of us his Lamb will bring,
Each his pair of Silver Doves.
At last, in fire of thy fair Eyes,
We’l burn our own best Sacrifice.