What doth that beautie, rarest guift of heau’n,
Wonder of earth? Alas! what doe those eies?
And that swete voice all Asia vnderstoode,
And sunburnt Afrike wide in deserts spred?
Is their force dead? haue they no further power?
Can not by them Octauius be supriz’d?
Alas! if Ioue in middst of all his ire,
With thunderbolt in hand some land to plague,
Had cast his eies on my Queene, out of hande
His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hande: