Ii

At last the golden Orientall gate, Of greatest heaven gan to open faire, And Phoebus fresh, as bridegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie haire: And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy aire. Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv'd, streightway He started up, and did him selfe prepaire, In sunbright armes, and battailous array: For with that Pagan proud he combat will that day.