NATURE

HOw young and fresh am I to night, To see't kept day, by so much light, And twelve my sons stand in their Makers sighed? Help, wise Prometheus , something must be done, To show they are the creatures of the Sun, That each to other Is a brother, And Nature here no stepdame, but a mother. CHORUS. Come forth, come forth, prove all the numbers then, That make perfection up, and may absolve you men. But show thy winding ways and arts, Thy risings, and thy timely starts Of stealing fire, from Ladies eyes and hearts. Those softer circles are the young men heaven, And there more orbs and Planets are then seven, To know whose motion Were a Notion As worthy of youths study, as devotion. CHORUS. Come forth, come forth, prove all the time will gain, For Nature bids the best, and never bade in vain. THey are loath to go I know, Or sure they are no sons of mine. There is no banquet, boys Like this, If you hope better, you will miss, Stay here, and take each one a kiss. Not one I fear, And read it in their laughters. Ther's more I guess would wish to be my daughters. I think that thought so told Is no false piece of story. It's yet with them, but Beauty's noon, They would not Grandames be too soon. It's form allures. Then move, the Ladies here are store.