Read it through once

Iupiter. No more you petty Spirits of Region low Offend our hearing: hush. How dare you Ghostes Accuse the Thunderer, whose Bolt (you know) Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coasts. Poore shadowes of Elizium, hence, and rest Vpon your neuer-withering bankes of Flowres. Be not with mortall accidents opprest, No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours. Whom best I loue, I crosse; to make my guift The more delay'd, delighted. Be content, Your low-laide Sonne, our Godhead will vplift: His Comforts thriue, his Trials well are spent: Our Iouiall Starre reign'd at his Birth, and in Our Temple was he married: Rise, and fade, He shall be Lord of Lady Imogen, And happier much by his Affliction made This Tablet lay vpon his Brest, wherein Our pleasure, his full Fortune, doth confine, And so away: no farther with your dinne Expresse Impatience, least you stirre vp mine: Mount Eagle, to my Palace Christalline.