2 Kinge. From him, whom by a more illustrious ly,
The blindnes of the World did call the eye.45
3 Kinge. To Him, Who by these mortall clouds hast made
Thyself our sun, though Thine Own shade.
1 Kinge. Farewell, the World's false light!
Farewell, the white
Ægypt; a long farewell to thee50
Bright idol, black idolatry:
The dire face of inferior darknes, kis't
And courted in the pompus mask of a more specious mist.
2 Kinge. Farewell, farewell
The proud and misplac't gates of Hell,55
Pertch't in the Morning's way perched.
And double-guilded as the doores of Day:
The deep hypocrisy of Death and Night
More desperately dark, because more bright.
3 Kinge. Welcome, the World's sure way!60
Heavn's wholsom ray.
Chorus. Wellcome to vs; and we
(Sweet!) to our selues, in Thee.
1 Kinge. The deathles Heir of all Thy Father's day!
2 Kinge. Decently born!65
Embosom'd in a much more rosy Morn:
The blushes of Thy all-vnblemisht mother.
3 Kinge. No more that other
Aurora shall sett ope
Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope70
From mortall eyes
To meet religious welcomes at her rise.
Chorus. We (pretious ones!) in you haue won
A gentler Morn, a iuster sun.