Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But he, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;
She, crown’d with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphear,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,
And, waving wide her mirtle wand,
She strikes a universall peace through sea and land.
No war, or battails sound,