Sound forth, coelestiall organs, let heauen's quire Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle, That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile; Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye With heauen itselfe for stately majesty. Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome, Circled with pure refinèd glory? heere I view a rising sunne in this our sphere, Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night, And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light. The gold, in wch he flames, does well præsage A precious season, & a golden age. Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now, And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow? Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies To haue them guilded with his courteous raies. Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may Abash the purest beauties of the day? To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night Steale from their stations to repaire their light. Doe I not see a constellation, Each little beame of wch would make a sunne? I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne. To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye Would be ambitious of astronomie Who would not be a phoenix, & aspire To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire? Shine forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity, Yee perfect emblemes of divinity. Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence, The treasures of our liues, your influence, For if you sett, who may not justly feare, The world will be one ocean, one great teare. UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.