Her high-exalted sunbeams have set the phoenix nest of
my breast on fire, and I myself have brought Arabian spiceries
of sweet passions and praises to furnish out the funeral flame
of my folly. Those who were condemned to be smothered to
death by sinking down into the soft bottom of an highbuilt bed
of roses, never died so sweet a death as I should die if her
rose-coloured disdain were my deathsman. Oh, thrice imperial
Hampton Court, Cupid’s enchanted castle, the place where I
first saw the perfect omnipotence of the Almighty expressed
in mortality, ‘tis thou alone that, tithing all other men solace
in thy pleasant situation, affordest me nothing but an
excellent-begotten sorrow out of the chief treasury of all
thy recreations.