—The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn.
Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath
From thence her veil reached to the ground beneath;
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives;
Many would praise the sweet smell, as she past,
When ’twas the odor that her breath forth cast;
And therefor honey-bees have sought in vain
And beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble stone,