Time that leads the fatal round,
Hath made his centre in our ground,
With swelling seas embracèd;
And there at one stay he rests,
And with the Fates keeps holy feasts,
With pomp and pastime gracèd.
Light Cupids there do dance,
And Venus sweetly sings
With heavenly notes
Tuned to sound of silver strings.
Their songs are all of joy,
No sign of sorrow there,
But all as stars
Glistering fair and blithe appear.