Thanks king of Fesse, take here thy crowne again.
Your presence (loving friends and fellow kings)
Makes me to surfet in conceiving joy.
If all the christall gates of Joves high court
Were opened wide, and I might enter in
To see the state and majesty of heaven,
It could not more delight me than your sight.
Now will we banquet on these plaines a while,
And after martch to
Turky
with our Campe,
In number more than are the drops that fall
When Boreas rents a thousand swelling cloudes,
And proud Orcanes of Natolia,
With all his viceroies shall be so affraide,
That though the stones, as at Deucalions flood,
Were turnde to men, he should be overcome:
Such lavish will I make of Turkish blood,
That Jove shall send his winged Messenger
To bid me sheath my sword, and leave the field:
The Sun unable to sustaine the sight,
Shall hide his head in Thetis watery lap,
And leave his steeds to faire
Boetes
charge:
For halfe the world shall perish in this fight:
But now my friends, let me examine ye,
How have ye spent your absent time from me?