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| FAIRE Easterne starre, that art ordain’d to runne | |
| Before the sages, to the rising Sunne, | |
| Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud | |
| Of this poore stable can thy Maker shroud: | |
| Ye heauenly bodies, glory to be bright, | 5 |
| And are esteem’d, as ye are rich in light: | |
| But here on earth is taught a diff’rent way, | |
| Since vnder this low roofe the Highest lay; | |
| Ierusalem erects her stately towres, | |
| Displayes her windowes, and adornes her bowres; | 10 |
| Yet there thou must not cast a trembling sparke: | |
| Let Herod’s palace still continue darke; | |
| Each schoole and synagogue thy force repels, | |
| There Pride enthron’d in misty errours, dwels, | |
| The temple, where the priests maintaine their quire, | 15 |
| Shall taste no beame of thy celestiall fire; | |
| While this weake cottage all thy splendor takes, | |
| A joyfull gate of eu’ry chinke it makes. | |
| Here shines no golden roofe, no iu’ry staire, | |
| No king exalted in a stately chaire, | 20 |
| Girt with attendants, or by heralds styl’d, | |
| But straw and hay inwrap a speechlesse child; | |
| Yet Sabae’s lords before this Babe vnfold | |
| Their treasures, off’ring incense, myrrh and gold. | |
| The cribbe becomes an altar; therefore dies | 25 |
| No oxe nor sheepe; for in their fodder lies | |
| The Prince of Peace, who thankfull for His bed, | |
| Destroyes those rites, in which their blood was shed: | |
| The quintessence of earth, He takes and fees, | |
| And precious gummes distill’d from weeping trees; | 30 |
| Rich metals and sweet odours now declare | |
| The glorious blessings, which His lawes prepare | |
| To cleare vs from the base and lothsome flood | |
| Of sense, and make vs fit for angels’ food, | |
| Who lift to God for vs the holy smoke | 35 |
| Of feruent prayers, with which we Him inuoke, | |
| And trie our actions in that searching fire, | |
| By which the seraphims our lips inspire: | |
| No muddy drosse pure min’ralls shall infect, | |
| We shall exhale our vapours vp direct: | 40 |
| No stormes shall crosse, nor glitt’ring lights deface | |
| Perpetuall sighes, which seeke a happy place. | |
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