A Hymne of the Nativity, sung by the Shepheards.

Chorus. COme wee Shepheards who have seene
Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene.
Come lift we up our lofty song,
To wake the Sun that sleeps too long.

Hee in this our generall joy,
Slept, and dreampt of no such thing
While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy,
And kist the Cradle of our King;
Tell him hee rises now too late,
To shew us ought worth looking at.

Tell him wee now can shew him more
Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight,
Then hee himselfe e're saw before,
Which to be seene needs not his light:
Tell him Tityrus where th'hast been,
Tell him Thyrsis what th'hast seen.

Chorus. Heaven in Earth! and God in Man!
Great litle one, whose glorious Birth,
Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops heaven to earth▪

Welcome, though not to Gold, nor Silke,
To more then Caesars Birthright is.
Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke,
With many a rarely-temper'd kisse,
That breathes at once both Maid and Mother,
Warmes in the one, cooles in the other.

Shee sings thy Teares asleepe, and dips
Her Kisses in thy weeping Eye,
Shee spreads the red leaves of thy Lips,
That in their Buds yet blushing lye.
Shee 'gainst those Mother-Diamonds tryes
The points of her young Eagles Eyes.

Welcome, (though not to those gay flyes
Guilded i'th' Beames of Earthly Kings
Slippery soules in smiling eyes)
But to poore Shepheards, simple things,
That use no varnish, no oyl'd Arts,
But lift clean hands full of cleare hearts.

Yet when young Aprils husband showres,
Shall blesse the fruitfull Maia's Bed,
Wee'l bring the first-borne of her flowers,
To kisse thy feet, and crowne thy head.
To thee (Dread Lambe) whose Love must keepe
The Shepheards, while they feed their sheepe.

To thee meeke Majesty, soft King
Of simple Graces, and sweet Loves,
Each of us his Lamb will bring,
Each his payre of silver Doves.
At last, in fire of thy faire Eyes,
Wee'l burne, our owne best sacrifice.