O thou that swaiest the region under earth,
And art a king as absolute as Jove,
Come as thou didst in fruitfull Scicilie,
Survaieng all the glories of the land:
And as thou took'st the faire Proserpina,
Joying the fruit of Ceres
garden plot,
For love, for honor, and to make her Queene,
So for just hate, for shame, and to subdew
This proud contemner of thy dreadfull power,
Come once in furie and survey his pride,
Haling him headlong to the lowest hell.
