Time, that leads the fatall round, Hath made his center in our ground, With swelling seas embraced ; And there at one stay he rests, And with the fates keepes holy feasts, With pomp and pastime graced. Light Cupids there do daunce and Venus sweetly singes With heauenly notes tun'd to sound of siluer strings, Their songs are al of ioy, no signe of sorrow there, But all as starres glistring faire and blith appeare.
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