Queen of Prey (now prey to you),
Fast to that pirch
In silver chaines and silken clue,
now made full thy victory:
admirall of the dread
Cold deepe, burnt in thy
flames, oh faire!
Wast not enough, but thou must lead
Bound, too, the Princesse of the aire?
Unarm'd of wings and scaly oare,
Unhappy crawler on
To what heav'n fly'st? div'st to what
That her brave eyes do not command?
Ascend the chariot of the Sun
From her bright
pow'r to shelter thee:
Her captive (foole) outgases
Ah, what lost wretches then are we!
Now, proud usurpers on the right
Of sacred beauty,
heare your dombe;
Recant your sex, your mastry,
Lower you cannot be or'ecome:
Repent, ye er'e nam'd he or head,
For y' are in
And in that just dominion bred,
In which the nobler is the shee.