Being bound, bade beckon out her milkwhite steeds,
Four doves, that ready to her royal use
In golden cages stood and peck’d the seeds:
Best of the nimble air’s high-sailing folk
That wore with pride the marking of her yoke,
And cooed in envy of her gentle needs.
2
These drew in turn her chariot, when in state
Along the heaven with all her train she fared;
And oft in journeying to the skiey gate