To signify her sight in mysteries;
Upon each shoulder sits a milk-white dove,
And at her feet do witty serpents move;
Her spacious arms do reach from East to west,
And you may see her heart shine thro’ her breast.
Her right hand holds a sun with burning rays
Her left, a curious bunch of golden keys
With which Heaven’s gates she locketh and displays.
A crystal mirror hangeth at her breast,
By which men’s consciences are searched and drest;