And now what heav'n must I invade, what sphere Rifle of all her stars, t' inthrone her there? No! Phoebus, by thy boys<85.5> fate we beware Th' unruly flames o'th' firebrand, thy carr; Although, she there once plac'd, thou, Sun, shouldst see Thy day both nobler governed and thee. Drive on, Bootes, thy cold heavy wayn, Then grease thy wheels with amber in the main, And Neptune, thou to thy false Thetis gallop, Appollo's set within thy bed of scallop: Whilst Amoret, on the reconciled winds Mounted, and drawn by six caelestial minds, She armed was with innocence and fire, That did not burn; for it was chast desire; Whilst a new light doth gild the standers by. Behold! it was a day shot from her eye; Chafing perfumes oth' East did throng and sweat, But by her breath they melting back were beat. A crown of yet-nere-lighted stars she wore, In her soft hand a bleeding heart she bore, And round her lay of broken millions more;<85.6> Then a wing'd crier thrice aloud did call: LET FAME PROCLAIM THIS ONE GREAT PRISE FOR ALL. By her a lady that might be call'd fair, And justly, but that Amoret was there, Was pris'ner led; th' unvalewed robe she wore Made infinite lay lovers to adore, Who vainly tempt her rescue (madly bold) Chained in sixteen thousand links of gold; Chrysetta thus (loaden with treasures) slave Did strow the pass with pearls, and her way pave. But loe! the glorious cause of all this high True heav'nly state, brave Philamore, draws nigh, Who, not himself, more seems himself to be, And with a sacred extasie doth see! Fix'd and unmov'd on 's pillars he doth stay, And joy transforms him his own statua; Nor hath he pow'r to breath [n]or strength to greet The gentle offers of his Amoret, Who now amaz'd at 's noble breast doth knock, And with a kiss his gen'rous heart unlock; Whilst she and the whole pomp doth enter there, Whence her nor Time nor Fate shall ever tear. But whether am I hurl'd? ho! back! awake From thy glad trance: to thine old sorrow take! Thus, after view of all the Indies store, The slave returns unto his chain and oar; Thus poets, who all night in blest heav'ns dwell, Are call'd next morn to their true living hell; So I unthrifty, to myself untrue, Rise cloath'd with real wants, 'cause wanting you, And what substantial riches I possesse, I must to these unvalued dreams confesse. But all our clowds shall be oreblown, when thee In our horizon bright once more we see; When thy dear presence shall our souls new-dress, And spring an universal cheerfulnesse; When we shall be orewhelm'd in joy, like they That change their night for a vast half-year's day.