The broken heavens dispart with fearful noise,
And from the breach outshoots a sudden light;
Straight shrilling trumpets, with loud-sounding voice,
Give echoing summons to new bloody fight:

Well knew the Dragon that all-quelling blast,

And soon perceived that day must be his last,

Which struck his frightened heart and all his troops aghast.

Yet full of malice and of stubborn pride,

Though oft had strove, and had been foiled as oft, Boldly his death and certain fate defied;

And, mounted on his flaggy sails aloft,

With boundless spite he longed to try again

A second loss, and new death;-glad and fain

To shew his poisonous hate, though ever shewed in vain.

So up he arose upon his stretched sails,

Fearless expecting his approaching death;
So up he arose, that the air starts and fails,
And over-pressed, sinks his load beneath;

So up he arose, as doth a thunder-cloud,

Which all the earth with shadows black doth shroud;
So up he arose, and through the weary air he rowed.

Now his Almighty foe far off he spies,

Whose sun-like arms dazzled the eclipsed day,
Confounding with their beams less glittering skies,
Firing the air with more than heavenly ray,
Like thousand suns in one;-such is their light,
A subject only for immortal sprite,

Which never can be seen but by immortal sight.

His threatening eyes shine like that dreadful flame
With which the Thunderer arms his angry hand:
Himself had fairly wrote his wondrous name,

Which neither earth nor heaven could understand:

A hundred crowns, like towers, be set around

His conquering head; well may they there abound,

When all his limbs and troops with gold are richly crowned.

His armour all was dyed in purple blood,

(In purple blood of thousand rebel kings,)

In vain their stubborn powers his aim withstood;

Their proud necks chained he now in triumph brings,
And breaks their spears and cracks their traitor-swords;
Upon whose arms and thigh in golden words

Was fairly writ, "The King of kings, and Lord of lords.'

His snow-white steed was born of heavenly kind,
Begot by Boreas on the Thracian hills,
More strong and speedy than his parent wind,

And (which his foes with fear and horror fills,)
Out from his mouth a two-edged sword he darts,
Whose sharpest steel the bone and marrow parts,
And with his keenest point unbreast the naked hearts.

The Dragon, wounded with his flaming brand,

They take, and in strong bonds and fetters tie:
Short was the fight, nor could he long withstand
Him whose appearance is his victory.

So now he's bound in adamantine chain :

He storms, he roars, he yells for high disdain;
His net is broke, the fowl go free, the fowler's ta'en.

Soon at this sight the knights revive again,

As fresh as when the flowers from winter's tomb,
When now the sun brings back his nearest train,

Peep out again from their fresh mother's womb:
The primrose, lighted new, her flame displays,
And frights the neighbour hedge with fiery rays!
And all the world renew their mirth and sportive plays.

The prince, who saw his long imprisonment

Now end in never-ending liberty,

To meet the victor from his castle went,

And falling down, clasping his royal knee,
Pours out deserved thanks in grateful praise:
But him the heavenly Saviour soon doth raise,
And bids him spend in joy his never-ending days.

Victory having thus been obtained over the Vices, the poet describes the Marriage of Christ and his Church.

The fair Eclecta, that with widowed brow
Her absent Lord long mourned in sad array,
Now silken linen clothed, like frozen snow,

Whose silver spangles sparkle 'gainst the day:
This shining robe her Lord Himself had wrought,
While He her love with hundred presents sought,
And it with many a wound, and many a torment bought.
And thus arrayed, her heavenly beauties shined

(Drawing their beams from his most glorious face,)
Like to a precious jasper pure refined,

Which with a crystal mixed must mend his grace;

The golden stars a garland fair did frame,

To crown her locks; the sun lay hid for shame,

And yielded all his beams to her more glorious flame.
Ah! who that flame can tell? Ah! who can see?
Enough is me with silence to admire;

While bolder joy, and humble majesty,

In either cheek had kindled graceful fire.
Long silent stood she, while her former fears
And griefs run all away in sliding tears,

And like a watery sun her gladsome face appears.
At length, when joys had left her closet heart,

To seat themselves upon her thankful tongue,

First in her eyes they sudden flashes dart,

Then forth i' th' music of her voice they throng:

'My hope, my love, my joy, my life, my bliss!

(Whom to enjoy is heaven, but hell to miss,)

What are the world's false joys, what heaven's true joys to this? "Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold Thee?

Am I awake, and sure I do not dream?

Do these thrice-blessed arms again infold Thee?

Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. Thee, Thee I see! Thou, Thou thus folded art;

For deep thy stamp is printed in my heart,

And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part."

Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly plain her,

Upon his neck, a welcome load, depending;
While He with equal joy did entertain her,

Herself her champions highly all commending.

So all in triumph to his palace went,

Whose work in narrow words may not be pent;
For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent.

There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure;
No chance is there, nor dating times succeeding;
No wasteful spending can impair their treasure ;
Pleasure full-grown yet ever freshly breeding:

Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving;

The soul still big with joy, yet still conceiving

Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving.

There are they gone; there will they ever bide;

Swimming in waves of joy, and heavenly loving:

He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride;

Their hearts in love, like spheres, still constant moving.

No change, no grief, no age can them befall;

Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall,

Where all days are but one, and only one is all.

And as in state they thus in triumph ride,

The boys and damsels their just praises chant : The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt; Heaven's winged hosts, greeting this glorious spring, Attune their higher notes and hymens sing:

Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing.

Upon his lightning brow Love proudly sitting,

Flames out in power, shines out in majesty ;
There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting,
Displays the marks of highest Deity:

There full of strength, in lordly arms He stands,

And every heart and every soul commands:

No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly power withstands

Upon her forehead, thousand cheerful graces
Seated on thrones of spotless ivory;
There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces,
His bow unbent, disclaims all tyranny:
There by his play a thousand souls beguiles;
Persuading more by simple modest smiles
Than ever he could force by arms, or crafty wiles.

Upon her cheek doth beauty's self implant

The freshest garden of her choicest flowers;

On which, if Envy might but glance askant,

Her eyes would swell and burst and melt in showers:

Thrice fairer, both, than ever fairest eyed,
Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried;
Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride.

Full of his Father shines his glorious face,

As far the sun surpassing in his light,
As doth the sun the earth his flaming blaze:

Sweet influence streaming from his quickening sight;
His beams from nought did all this all display;
And when to less than nought they fell away,
He soon restored again by his new orient ray.

All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame;
Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes,)
More bright than is the morning's brightest flame,
More fruitful than the May-time geminies;
These, back restore the timely summer's fire,
Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire,
Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire.

These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed,
Where, in the centre, joy triumphing sits;
Thus in all high perfections fully graced,

Her mid-day bliss no future night admits;

But in the mirrors of her spouse's eyes
Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies
All sweets, a glorious beauty to imparadise.