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,