And bricht Appollo with thy cours eterne,
That makis the frutis spring on every ground,
And with thy mychty influence dois governe
The twynkland sternes about the mappamound[704]!
Thy fyry visage on my vers diffound[705],
And quikin the spretis of my dull ingine[706]
With rutiland[707] beme of thy low[708] divine.
And ye my soverane be line continewall,
Ay cum of kingis your progenitouris,
And writis in ornate stile poeticall