To the Heavenly Host, exulting at our Saviours Birth

Cease your loud joyes, Celestials, cease,
Your noyse disturbes the Prince of peace;
Whose teares (which who can singing view?)
His cheekes sweet rosaryes bedew,
And at whose plaints th'empassion'd stones
Are chaf'd to droppes, and melt with mones.
Yet haile deare cause of pretious joyes!
For those thy vollying sighes and cryes,
Doe force the ports of Heaven to sly
Open, and make us way thereby
To blisse; and that thy pearly raine
Doth our robb'd soules enrich againe.
Then doe not yet, Celestials, cease;
Your mirth proclaimes the Prince of peace.