Burning in liquid gold its watery head,

Or round with ivory edges silvered;

What lustre supereminent will He

Lighten on those who shall his sunshine see

In that all-glorious court, in which all glories be.

Giles Fletcher.

Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares,

Anxious sighs, untimely tears.

Fly, fly to courts;

Fly to fond worldlings’ sports,