The Morning Quatrains

THE cock has crow'd an hour ago,
'Tis time we now dull sleep forego;
Tir'd Nature is by sleep redress'd,
And Labour's overcome by rest.
We have out-done the work of Night,
'Tis time we rise t'attend the Light,
And e'er he shall his beams display,
To plot new bus'ness for the Day.
None but the slothful, or unsound,
Are by the Sun in feathers found,
Nor, without rising with the Sun,
Can the world's bus'ness e'er be done.
Hark! Hark! the watchful Chanticler
Tells us the Day's bright harbinger
Peeps o'er the eastern hills, to awe
And warm night's sov'reign to withdraw.
The morning curtains now are drawn,
And now appears the blushing dawn;
Aurora has her roses shed,
To strew the way Sol's steeds must tread.
Xanthus and Aethon harness'd are,
To roll away the burning car,
And, snorting flame, impatient bear
The dressing of the charioteer.
The sable cheeks of sullen Night
Are streak'd with rosy streams of light,
Whilst she retires away in fear,
To shade the other hemisphere.
The merry lark now takes her wings,
And long'd-for Day's loud welcome sings,
Mounting her body out of sight,
As if she meant to meet the Light.
Now doors and windows are unbarr'd,
Each-where are cheerful voices heard,
And round about 'Good-morrows' fly,
As if Day taught Humanity.
The chimnies now to smoke begin,
And the old wife sits down to spin,
Whilst Kate, taking her pail, does trip
Mull's swoll'n and straddl'ing paps to strip.
Vulcan now makes his anvil ring,
Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth sing,
And Silvio with his bugle horn
Winds an Imprime unto the Morn.
Now through the morning doors behold
Phoebus array'd in burning gold,
Lashing his fiery steeds, displays
His warm and all-enlight'ning rays.
Now each one to his work prepares,
All that have hands are labourers,
And manufactures of each trade
By op'ning shops are open laid.
Hob yokes his oxen to the team,
The angler goes unto the stream,
The woodman to the purlews hies,
And lab'ring bees to load their thighs.
Fair Amarillis drives her flocks,
All night safe-folded from the fox,
To flow'ry downs, where Colin stays,
To court her with his roundelays.
The traveller now leaves his inn
A new day's journey to begin,
As he would post it with the day,
And early rising makes good way.
The slick-fac'd school-boy satchel takes,
And with slow pace small riddance makes;
For why, the haste we make, you know
To Knowledge and to Virtue's slow.
The fore-horse jingles on the road,
The wagoner lugs on his load,
The field with busy people snies,
And city rings with various cries.
The World is now a busy swarm,
All doing good, or doing harm;
But let's take heed our acts be true,
For Heaven's eye sees all we do.
None can that piercing sight evade,
It penetrates the darkest shade,
And sin, though it could 'scape the eye,
Would be discover'd by the cry.

The Night Quatrains

THE Sun is set, and gone to sleep
With the fair princess of the deep,
Whose bosom is his cool retreat,
When fainting with his proper heat;
His steeds their flaming nostrils cool
In spume of the cerulean pool;
Whilst the wheels dip their hissing naves
[hubs]
Deep in Columbus's western waves.
From whence great rolls of smoke arise
To overshade the beauteous skies,
Who bid the World's bright eye adieu
In gelid tears of falling dew.
And now from the Iberian vales
Night's sable steeds her chariot hales,
Where double cypress curtains screen
The gloomy melancholic queen.
These, as they higher mount the sky,
Ravish all colour from the ey,
And leave it but an useless glass
, [mirror]
Which few or no reflections grace.
The crystal arch o'er Pinduss crown
Is on a sudden dusky grown,
And all's with fun'ral black o'erspread,
As if the Day, which sleeps, were dead.
No ray of Light the heart to cheer,
But little twinkling stars appear,
Which like faint dying embers lie,
Fit not to work nor travel by.
Perhaps to him they torches are,
Who guide Night's sov'reign's drowsy car,
And him they may befriend so near,
But us they neither light nor cheer.
Or else those little sparks of Light
Are nails that tire the wheels of Night,
Which to new stations still are brought
As they roll o'er the gloomy vault,
Or nails that arm the horse's hoof
Which trampling o'er the marble roof
And striking fire in the air,
We mortals call a shooting star.
That's all the Light we now receive,
Unless what belching Vulcans give,
And those yield such a kind of Light
As adds more horror to the Night.
Nyctimine now freed from Day,
From sullen bush flies out to prey,
And does with ferret note proclaim
Th'arrival of th'usurping Dame.
The rail now cracks in fields and meads,
Toads now forsake the nettle-beds,
The tim'rous hare goes to relief,
And wary men bolt out the thief.
The fire's new rak'd, and hearth swept clean
By Madge, the dirty kitchen quean*, [servant]
The safe is lock'd, the mouse-trap set,
The leaven laid, and bucking wet.
Now in false floors and roofs above,
The lustful cats make ill-tun'd love,
The ban-dog on the dunghill lies,
And watchful nurse sings lullabies.
Philomel chants it whilst she bleeds,
The bittern booms it in the reeds,
And Reynard ent'ring the back yard,
The Capitolian cry is heard.
The Goblin now the fool alarms,
Hags meet to mumble o'er their charms;
The Night Mare rides the dreaming ass,
And Fairies trip it on the grass.
The drunkard now supinely snores,
His load of ale sweats through his pores,
Yet when he wakes the swine shall find
A cropala remains behind.
The sober now and chaste are blest
With sweet, and with refreshing rest,
And to sound sleeps they've best pretence,
Have greatest share of Innocence.
We should so live then that we may
Fearless put off our clots and clay,
And travel through Death's shades to Light,
For every Day must have its Night.