Classic Poem

Atlas vpon his shoulders bare the skye,
The loade was heauy, but the loade was faire:
His sense was rauish'd with the melodie,
Made from the motion of the highest sphere.

Not Atlas I, Nor did I heauen beare,
Caelica , 'tis true, once on my shoulder sate,
Her eyes more rich by many characts were
Than Starres or Planets, which men wonder at:
Atlas bare heauen, such burdens be of grace,
Caelica in heauen, is the Angels place.