Thou art repriv'd old yeare, thou shalt not die, 105 Though thou upon thy death bed lye, And should'st within five dayes expire, Yet thou art rescu'd by a mightier fire, Then thy old Soule, the Sunne, When he doth in his largest circle runne. 110 The passage of the West or East would thaw, And open wide their easie liquid jawe To all our ships, could a Promethean art Either unto the Northerne Pole impart The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving heart. 115 II. _Equality of persons_. But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes, In this new couple, dost thou prize, When his eye as inflaming is As hers, and her heart loves as well as his? Be tryed by beauty, and than 120 The bridegroome is a maid, and not a man. If by that manly courage they be tryed, Which scornes unjust opinion; then the bride Becomes a man. Should chance or envies Art Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part? 125 Since both have both th'enflaming eyes, and both the loving heart. III. _Raysing of the Bridegroome_. Though it be some divorce to thinke of you Singly, so much one are you two, Yet let me here contemplate thee, First, cheerfull Bridegroome, and first let mee see, 130 How thou prevent'st the Sunne, And his red foming horses dost outrunne, How, having laid downe in thy Soveraignes brest All businesses, from thence to reinvest Them, when these triumphs cease, thou forward art 135 To shew to her, who doth the like impart, The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart. IIII. _Raising of the Bride._ But now, to Thee, faire Bride, it is some wrong, To thinke thou wert in Bed so long, Since Soone thou lyest downe first, tis fit 140 Thou in first rising should'st allow for it. Pouder thy Radiant haire, Which if without such ashes thou would'st weare, Thou, which to all which come to looke upon, Art meant for Phœbus, would'st be Phaëton. 145 For our ease, give thine eyes th'unusual part Of joy, a Teare; so quencht, thou maist impart, To us that come, thy inflaming eyes, to him, thy loving heart. V. _Her Apparrelling._ Thus thou descend'st to our infirmitie, Who can the Sun in water see. 150 Soe dost thou, when in silke and gold, Thou cloudst thy selfe; since wee which doe behold, Are dust, and wormes, 'tis just Our objects be the fruits of wormes and dust; Let every Jewell be a glorious starre, 155 Yet starres are not so pure, as their spheares are. And though thou stoope, to'appeare to us in part, Still in that Picture thou intirely art, Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his loving heart. VI. _Going to the Chappell._