[The speech of Zeal]
The populous globe of this our English isle,
Seemed to move backward, at the funeral pile,
Of her dead female majesty. All states
From nobles down to spirits of meaner fates,
Moved opposite to nature and to peace,
As if these men had been th’Antipodes,
But see, the virtue of a regal eye,
Th’attractive wonder of man’s majesty,
Our globe is drawn in a right line again,
And now appear new faces, and new men.
The elements, earth, water, air, and fire,
(Which ever clipped a natural desire,
To combat each with other, being at first,)
Created enemies to fight their worst,
See at the peaceful presence of their king,
How quietly they moved, without their sting:
Earth not devouring, fire not defacing,
Water not drowning, and the air not chasing:
But propping the quaint fabric that here stands,
Without the violence of their wrathful hands.
