A lady’s beauty will her life divest,
In death alone appearing nobly born.
So would my lady might esteem no scorn
Her life in my mortality to vest,
That I might shed this slough, and be reborn
Forth from my being to a state more blest.
Would that of me the silken thread were twined,
That fashioned to her happy gown, doth use
So fair a bosom with content to bind,
By day at least to wear me; or the shoes,