Every Man out of His Humour Part 39

Never till now did object greet mine eyes With any light content: but in her graces All my malicious powers have lost their stings.

Envy is fled from my soul at sight of her, And she hath chased all black thoughts from my bosom, Like as the sun doth darkness from the world, My stream of humour is run out of me, And as our city's torrent, bent t'infect The hallow'd bowels of the silver Thames, Is check'd by strength and clearness of the river, Till it hath spent itself even at the sh.o.r.e; So in the ample and unmeasured flood Of her perfections, are my pa.s.sions drown'd; And I have now a spirit as sweet and clear As the more rarefied and subtle air: -- With which, and with a heart as pure as fire, Yet humble as the earth, do I implore [KNEELS.

O heaven, that She, whose presence hath effected This change in me, may suffer most late change In her admired and happy government: May still this Island be call'd Fortunate, And rugged Treason tremble at the sound, When Fame shall speak it with an emphasis.

Let foreign polity be dull as lead, And pale Invasion come with half a heart, When he but looks upon her blessed soil.

The throat of War be stopt within her land, And turtle-footed Peace dance fairy rings About her court; where never may there come Suspect or danger, but all trust and safety.

Let Flattery be dumb, and Envy blind In her dread presence; Death himself admire her; And may her virtues make him to forget The use of his inevitable hand.

Fly from her, Age; sleep, Time, before her throne; Our strongest wall falls down, when she is gone.