John Lyly (1555?–1606)

SING to Apollo, god of day,

Whose golden beams with morning play

And make her eyes so brightly shine,

Aurora’s face is called divine;

Sing to Phœbus and that throne

Of diamonds which he sits upon.

Io, pæans let us sing

To Physic’s and to Poesy’s king!

Crown all his altars with bright fire,

Laurels bind about his lyre,

A Daphnean coronet for his head,

The Muses dance about his bed;

When on his ravishing lute he plays,

Strew his temple round with bays.

Io, pæans let us sing

To the glittering Delian king!