Hearke, Hearke, the Larke at Heauens Gate Sings

Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings,
 and Phoebus gins arise,
His Steeds to water at those Springs
 on chalic'd Flowres that lyes:
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:
 Arise, arise.