Classic Poem

Upon her head she weares a crown of starres,
Through which her orient hayre waves to her waist,
By which beleeving mortalls hold fast,
And in those golden chordes are carried even,
Till with her breath she blowes them up to heaven.
She wears a robe enchas'd with eagles eyes,
To signifie her sight in mysteries;
Upon each shoulder sits a milke-white dove,
And at her feet doe witty serpents move:
Her spacious armes doe reach from East to West,
And you may see her heart shine through her breast.
Her right hand holds a sunne with burning rayes,
Her left a curious bunch of golden kayes,
With which Heavem gates she locketh, and displayes.
A christall mirror hangeth at her brest,
By which men's consciences are search'd, and drest:
On her coach-wheeles hypocrisie lies rackt;
And squint-eyd slander, with vaine-glory backt
Her bright eyes burne to dust: in which shines fate.
An angell ushers her triumphant gait,
Whilst with her fingers fans of starres shee twists,
And with them beates backe Error, clad in mists.
Eternall Unitie behind her shines
That fire, and water, earth, and ayre combines.
Her voyce is like a trumpet lowd, and shrill,
Which bids all sounds in Earth, and Heav'n be still.
And see! descended from her chariot now,
In this related pompe shee visits you.