The issue of the Cyprian Queene,
Whose head and shoulders fethered beene,
And as the starrs his countnance sheene.
In his left hand his bow he bare,
And by his side his quiver ware:
In powre he sits past all compare,
And with his flames the worlde doth dare.
A scepter in his hand he hild,
With Chloris native flowrs untild,
And nectars deathles odors stild,