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ippery souls in smiling eyes, But to poor shepherds' homespun things; Whose wealth's their flock, whose wit to be Well read in their simplicity. Yet when young April's 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 shepherds more than they 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, Till burnt at last in fire of thy fair eyes Ourselves become our own best sacrifice. _Richard Crashaw._ SUNG BY THE SHEPHERD. The New Year is begun, Good-morrow, my masters all! The cheerful rising sun Now shining in this hall, Brings mirth and joy To man and boy. With all that here doth dwell; Whom Jesus bless With love's increase, So all things shall prosper well. A New-Year's gift I bring Unto my master here, Which is a welcome thing Of mirth and merry cheer. A New-Year's lamb Come from thy dam An hour before daybreak, Your noted ewe Doth this bestow, Good master, for your sake. And to my dame so kind This New-Year's gift I bring; I'll bear an honest mind Unto her whilst I live. Your white-woolled sheep I'll safely keep From harm of bush or brere, That garments gay For your array May clothe you the next New Year. And to your children all, These New-Year's gifts I bring; And though the price be small, They're fit for queen or king: Fair pippins red Kept in my bed A-mellowing since last year, Whose beauty bright So clear of sight Their hearts will glad and cheer. And to your maids and men I bring both points and pins; Come bid me welcome then, The good New Year begins: And for my love Let me approve The friendship of your Maid, Whose nappy ale, So good and stale, Will make my wits afraid. I dare not with it deal But in a sober diet: If I, poor shepherd, steal A draught to be unquiet, And lose my way This New-Year's day As I go to my fold, You'll surely think My love of drink This following year will hold.
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