While wanton winds with beautie so divine
Ravisht, staid not, til in her golden haire
They did themselves (ô sweetest prison) twine.
But faine those friendly winds there would their stay
Have made, but forst by Nature still to flie,
First did with puffing kisse those Lockes display:
She so discovered, blusht. From window I
With sight thereof cride out; Ah faire disgrace,
Let honours selfe to thee graunt highest place.
Envious wits what hath beene mine offence,