The Flower of the Mind

								


   And stand astonished like to those which read

   Medusa’s mazeful head.

   There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity,

   Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood,

   Regard of honour, and mild modesty;

   There virtue reigns as Queen in royal throne,

   And giveth laws alone,

   The which the base affections do obey,

   And yield their services unto her will;

   Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may

   Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.

   Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures

   And unrevealed pleasures,

   Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing,

   That all the woods should answer, and your echo ring.



   Open the temple gates unto my love,

   Open them wide that she may enter in,

   And all the posts adorn as doth behove,

   And all the pillars deck with garlands trim,

   For to receive this Saint with honour due,

   That cometh in to you.

   With trembling steps, and humble reverence,

   She cometh in before th’ Almighty’s view;

   Of her ye virgins learn obedience,

   When so ye come into those holy places,

   To humble your proud faces:

   Bring her up to th’ high altar, that she may

   The sacred ceremonies there partake,

   The which do endless matrimony make;

   And let the roaring organs loudly play

   The praises of the Lord in lively notes;

   The whiles, with hollow throats,

   The choristers the joyous anthem sing,

   That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring.



   Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,

   Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks,

   And blesseth her with his two happy hands,

   How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,

   And the pure snow with goodly vermeil stain,

   Lake crimson dyed in grain:

   That even th’ Angels, which continually

   About the sacred altar do remain,

   Forget their service and about her fly,

   Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair,

   The more they on it stare.

   But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,

   Are governed with goodly modesty,

   That suffers not one look to glance awry,

   Which may let in a little thought unsound.

   Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,

   The pledge of all our band?

   Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluja sing,

   That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.



   Now all is done: bring home the Bride again;

   Bring home the triumph of our victory:

   Bring home with you the glory of her gain,

   With joyance bring her and with jollity.

   Never had man more joyful day than this,

   Whom heaven would heap with bliss.

   Make feast therefore now all this live-long day;

   This day for ever to me holy is.

   Pour out the wine without restraint or stay,

   Pour not by cups, but by the bellyful!

   Pour out to all that wull,

   And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine,

   That they may sweat, and drunken be withal.

   Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal,

   And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine;