To his retirèd conclaves passage find.
Within whose walls a half-night's darkness dwells,
Which satyrs' growing palaces excels,
Or anchorets' secluding hermitage.
1190Here, like a common theatre or stage,
Each spicèd child of earth, in summer robe
And Iris' mantle, opes his closèd globe,
Knows his appearing cue, and freely plays
O' th' wished-for presence of your quick'ning rays.
Such perfect vivifying influence