_2 Kinge._ From him, whom by a more illustrious ly, The blindnes of the World did call the eye. 45 _3 Kinge._ To Him, Who by these mortall clouds hast made Thyself our sun, though Thine Own shade. _1 Kinge._ Farewell, the World's false light! Farewell, the white Ægypt; a long farewell to thee 50 Bright idol, black idolatry: The dire face of inferior darknes, kis't And courted in the pompus mask of a more specious mist. _2 Kinge._ Farewell, farewell The proud and misplac't gates of Hell, 55 Pertch't in the Morning's way _perched._ And double-guilded as the doores of Day: The deep hypocrisy of Death and Night More desperately dark, because more bright. _3 Kinge._ Welcome, the World's sure way! 60 Heavn's wholsom ray. _Chorus._ Wellcome to vs; and we (Sweet!) to our selues, in Thee. _1 Kinge._ The deathles Heir of all Thy Father's day! _2 Kinge._ Decently born! 65 Embosom'd in a much more rosy Morn: The blushes of Thy all-vnblemisht mother. _3 Kinge._ No more that other Aurora shall sett ope Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope 70 From mortall eyes To meet religious welcomes at her rise. _Chorus._ We (pretious ones!) in you haue won A gentler Morn, a iuster sun. _1 Kinge._ His superficiall beames sun-burn't our skin; 75 _2 Kinge._ But left within _3 Kinge._ The Night and Winter still of Death and Sin. _Chorus._ Thy softer yet more certaine darts Spare our eyes, but peirce our harts: _1 Kinge._ Therfore with his proud Persian spoiles 80 _2 Kinge._ We court Thy more concerning smiles. _3 Kinge._ Therfore with his disgrace We guild the humble cheek of this chast place; _Chorus._ And at Thy feet powr forth his face. _1 Kinge._ The doating Nations now no more 85 Shall any day but Thine adore. _2 Kinge._ Nor--much lesse--shall they leaue these eyes For cheap Ægyptian deityes. _3 Kinge._ In whatsoe're more sacred shape Of ram, he-goat, or reuerend ape; 90 Those beauteous rauishers opprest so sore The too-hard-tempted nations. _1 Kinge._ Neuer more By wanton heyfer shall be worn _2 Kinge._ A garland, or a guilded horn: 95 The altar-stall'd ox, fatt Osyris now With his fair sister cow _3 Kinge._ Shall kick the clouds no more; but lean and tame, _Chorus._ See His horn'd face, and dy for shame: And Mithra now shall be no name. 100 _1 Kinge._ No longer shall the immodest lust Of adulterous godles dust _2 Kinge._ Fly in the face of Heau'n; as if it were The poor World's fault that He is fair. 105