Sing to Apollo, God of Day, Whose golden beames with morning play, And make her eyes so brightly shine, Aurora’s face is call’d Divine. Sing to Phoebus, and that Throne Of Diamonds which he sits upon. Io, Pæans let us sing, To Physickes and to Poesies King Crowne all his Altars with bright fire, Laurels bind about his Lire, A Daphnean Coronet for his Head, The Muses dance about his Bed; When on his ravishing Lute he playes, Strew his Temple round with Bayes. Io, Pæans let us sing, To the glittering Delian King.