Forbear! Forbear!
ALISOUN
Alack, she scorns me. Stay, Venus of virgins!
Why dost thou wimple all the lovely dawn
Of thy young body in this veil of night?
Why wilt thou cork thy sweetness up, and, like
A mummy, wrapped in rose and ivory,
Store all thy beauty till the judgment-day?
God did not paint thee on a window-glass.
Step down from thy cold chapel, rosy saint,