Thyself unto a virgin’s bed.
Let thy love burne with hot desire,
She lacks no oil to feed the fire.
You know not poore Pigmalion’s lot,
Nor have you a mere idol got.
You no Ixion, you no proud
Juno makes embrace a cloud.
Looke how pure Diana’s skin
Appeares as it is shadow’d in
A chrystal streame; or look what grace