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 Sadly its thʼAyrian Queene; But farre above in pangled heene Celetiall Cupid her fam'd Son advanc't, Holds his deare Pyche weet intranc't After her wandring labours long, Till free conent the gods among Make her his æternall Bride, And from her faire unpotted ide Two blisfull twins are to be borne, Youth, and Ioy, so Iove hath worne.
 * But now my taske is moothly done,

I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the greene earths end, Where the bow'd welkin low doth bend, And from thence can oare as oone To the corners of the Moone.
 * Mortalls that would follow me,

Love vertue, she alone is free, She can teach yee how to clime Higher then the Sphærie chime; Or if vertue feeble were Heav'n it elfe would toope to her.