But oft we see before a sudden dash,
The sun salutes the earth with hottest gleams:
So here, before misfortune's harshest lash,
Joy on Albino shot his choicest beams;
That every thought was crownèd with a star,
[1400]And rid with Venus in her silver car.
Rose out o' th' vault with love and hope adust,
And in conceit fed on his future sweet,
Thinking what most may please, not what's most just.
And with what phrase he should his lady greet: