Eastrich! Thou featherd Foole, and easie prey,

 That larger sailes to thy broad Vessell needst;

Snakes through thy guttur-neck hisse all the day,

 Then on thy I’ron Messe at supper feedst.

Oh what a glorious transmigration

 From this, to so divine an edifice

Hast thou straight made! neere from a winged stone

 Transform’d into a Bird of Paradice!

Now doe thy Plumes for hiew and Luster vie

 With th’ Arch of heav’n that triumphs o’re past wet,

And in a rich enamel’d pinion lye

 With Saphyres, Amethists, and Opalls set.

Sometime they wing her side, thẽ strive to drown

 The Day’s eyespiercing beames, whose am’rousheat

Sollicites still, ’till with this shield of down

 From her brave face, his glowing fires are beat.

But whilst a plumy curtaine she doth draw,

 A Chrystall Mirror sparkles in thy breast,

In which her fresh aspect when as she saw,

 And then her Foe retired to the West,

Deare Engine that oth’ Sun got’st me the day,

 ’Spite of his hot assaults mad’st him retreat!

No wind (said she) dare with thee henceforth play

 But mine own breath to coole the Tyrants heat.

My lively shade thou ever shalt retaine

 In thy inclosed feather-framed glasse,

And but unto our selves to all remaine

 Invisible, thou feature of this face!

So said, her sad Swaine over-heard, and cried

 Yee Gods! for faith unstaind this a reward!

Feathers and glasse t’outweigh my vertue tryed?

 Ah show their empty strength! the Gods accord.

Now fall’n the brittle Favourite lyes, and burst!

 Amas’d Lucasta weepes, repents, and flies

To her Alexis, vowes her self acurst

 If hence she dresse her selfe, but in his eyes.