Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend 135

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out;

Ere the blabbing eastern scout,

The nice Morn on the Indian steep,

From her cabined loop-hole peep, 140

And to the tell-tale Sun descry

Our concealed solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground