Musicke, and moode, she loues, but loue she hates,
(As curious Ladies do, their publique cates)
This traine, with meteors, comets, lightenings,
The dreadfull presence of our Empresse sings:
Which grant for euer (ô eternall Night)
Till vertue flourish in the light of light.

Line 398. - The Shadow of Night - Hymnus in noctem