Now Dian, with her burning face,
Declines apace,
By which our waters know
To ebb, that late did flow.
Back seas, back nymphs; but with a forward grace
Keep, still, your reverence to the place;
And shout with joy of favour you have won
In sight of Albion, Neptune's son.
(from The Masque of Blackness)
Declines apace,
By which our waters know
To ebb, that late did flow.
Back seas, back nymphs; but with a forward grace
Keep, still, your reverence to the place;
And shout with joy of favour you have won
In sight of Albion, Neptune's son.
(from The Masque of Blackness)
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