Sweet Queen of Parley, [Daughter of the Sphere]!
So may’st thou be translated to the skies,
[And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies]!
Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? 245
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence.
[How sweetly did they float upon the wings]
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, 250