James Shirley

Piping Peace

You virgins that did late despair
	To keep your wealth from cruel men,
Tie up in silk your careless hair:
	Soft peace is come again.

Now lovers’ eyes may gently shoot
	A flame that will not kill;
The drum was angry, but the lute
	Shall whisper what you will.

Sing lo, lo! for his sake
	That hath restored your drooping heads;
With choice of sweetest flowers make
	A garden where he treads;

Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, 
	A pretty triumph for his brow,
Who is the Master of our spring 
	And all the bloom we owe.