VII.
DOwn from the neck unto that dainty Breast, (Which Nature made a Mirror of Delight; And where a World of Beauties sweet do rest) Doth hang a costly Chain of Pearl most bright; And of proportion are so just and round, That such in India rich cannot be found. Besides, their orient brightness is alike; So that mine eyes are dazzled with the same, And, not much used to see so fair a sight (A sight which doth the sun in glory stain), Cannot discern, though them they both do see, If Breast be Pearl, or Pearl in Bosom be.
VIII.
TO give that life, which had not breath before; Prometheus, from above, stole heavenly fire: For which his boldness he was plaguèd sore, A just reward for such a high aspire. So whilst I steal from thee, my heaven above, The heat which doth revive my dying sprite: For rashness, mine eternal grief I prove. Yet, though our fault's all one—the plague's not like: He feels of vulture one, alone, the smart; But I have thousands, which still gnaw my heart.
IX.