As Moses Cherubines, whose natures doe
50Surpasse all speed, by him are winged too:
So would her soule, already'in heaven, seeme then,
To clyme by teares, the common staires of men.
How fit she was for God, I am content
To speake, that Death his vaine hast may repent.
55How fit for us, how even and how sweet,
How good in all her titles, and how meet,
To have reform'd this forward heresie,
That women can no parts of friendship bee;