The fair, frail being, whose loveliness was thus panegyrized, fled from her husband’s house three years afterwards, never to return. “She was,” says the historian Wilson, “a lady of transcending beauty.” Ben Jonson’s lines on her face:—
Though your either cheek discloses
Mingled baths of milk and roses;
Though your lips be banks of blisses,
Where he plants and gathers kisses—
were not, therefore, greatly exaggerated.
Her mother—the mother who had bartered her at the altar—was next flattered:—
Mistress of a fairer table,
Hath no history or fable;
Others’ fortunes may be shewn,