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S. BENET ABBOT.
THE ARGVMENT.
LOoke how the Rosy Daughter of the morne,
The Starre that glads ech mortall with its sight,
Leauing at first old Titans bed forlorne,
About the Spheres doth cast her Crimsom light;
Roses and Lillyes hurling through the skye,
Quenching the starres with rayes from thence that fly.
So glorious was thy morning, so bright rayes
Thy tender yeares did lighten, and foretold
The heauenly Sunshine of thy riper dayes,
Dispelling darkenesse, and inflaming cold
And senselesse hearts with fire of holy loue,
And drawing all to seeke the ioyes aboue.
Thou taughtst the way, remouing obstacles,
That as they rise depresse our mounting soules:
Thy doctrine thou confirmdst with miracles,
And heau'n by thee both Death and Hell controules.
If Starre, or Angell bring Heau'ns influence,
Thou art that Starre, thou that Intelligence.