And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright,
Wherein her face she often vewed fayne,
And in her selfe-lou’d semblance tooke delight;
For she was wondrous faire, as any liuing wight.
Of griesly Pluto she the daughter was, xi
And sad Proserpina the Queene of hell;
Yet did she thinke her pearelesse worth[136] to pas
That parentage, with pride so did she swell,
And thundring Ioue, that high in heauen doth dwell,
And wield the world, she claymed for her syre,