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As then no winde at all there blew, No swelling clowde accloyd the ayre, The skye like grasse of watched hue Reflected Phaebus golden haire: The garnisht trees no pendant stird, Nor voyce was heard of any bird. Mat. Roydon.
The King of windes calls home his posts againe, And Amphitrite smooth's her watry plaine, The ayre his clowdes hath chang'd to christall cleere, And now the lamps of light from heauen appeare. J. Syluester.