Those beauties (Deare) which all thy sexe enuies,
As grieu'd men should such sacred wonders view:
For pompe apparel'd in a purple hue,
Do whiles disdaine the pride of mortall eyes,
Which, ah, attempting farre aboue their might,
Do gaze vpon the glorie of those Sunnes,
Whil'st many a ray that from their brightnesse runnes,
Doth dazle all that dare looke on their light:
Or was it this, which ô I feare me most,
That cled with scarlet, so thy purest parts,
Thy face it hauing wounded worlds of harts,
Would die her Lillies with the bloud they lost:
Thus ere thy cruelties were long conceal'd,
They by thy guiltie blush would be reueal'd.