The cælestiall mistress

Cælia, thy bright Angel's face

may be cal'd a heav'nly place:

the whiteness of the starry way

nature did on thy forehead lay:

but thine eyes have brightness woon,

not from Stars, but from the Sun:

the blushing of the Morn

in thy rosie cheek is worn,

the Musick of the heav'nly Sphears

in thy soul's winning voyce appears:

happy were I, had I (like Atlas) grace,

so faire a heav'n within mine Arms t'imbrace.