Rise, Lady Mistress! rise!
The night hath tedious been;
No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes,
Nor slumbers made me sin.
Is not she a saint, then, say!
Thought of whom keeps sin away?
Rise, madam! rise, and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover,
And ignorance, more dark than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover.
All want day till thy beauty rise,
For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.
Nathaniel Field.