(2)
To lay their juſt hands on that golden key
That ope's the palace of Æternity:
To ſuch my errand is, and but for ſuch
I would not ſoile theſe pure ambroſial weeds
With the ranck vapours of this Sin-worne mould.
But to my task. Neptune beſides the ſway
Of every ſalt Flood, and each ebbing Streame
Tooke in my lot'twixt high, and neather Iove
Imperial rule of all the Sea-girt Iles
That like to rich, and various gemms inlay
The unadorned boſome of the Deepe,
Which he to grace his tributarie gods
By courſe commits to ſeverall government
And gives them leave to weare their Saphire crowns,
And weild their little tridents, but this Ile
The greateſt, and the beſt of all the maine
He quarters to his blu-hair'd deities,
And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun
A noble Peere of mickle truſt, and power
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old, and haughtie Nation proud in Armes:
Where his faire off-ſpring nurs'r in Princely lore
Are comming to attend their Fathers ſtate,
And new-entruſted Seepter, but their way
Lies through the perplex't paths of this dreare wood,
The nodding horror of whoſe ſhadie brows
Threats the forlorne and wandring Paſſinger.
And here their tender age might ſuffer perill
But that by qu ck command from Soveraigne Iove
I was diſpatcht for their defence, and guard,
And liſten why, for I will tell yee now
What never yet was heard in Tale or Song
