Lo in the Orient when the gracious light,
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new appearing sight
Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
And having climb’d the steep up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in the midle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still
Attending on is golden pilgrimage:
But when from high-most pitch with weary car,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The ayes (‘fore duteous) now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook’d on diest unless thou get a son.