UPon triumphant chariot, 'passing rare, (In which my Sun doth sit like Majesty: And makes the day shew unto us more fair; Whose cheerfulness delights each mortal eye.) I, rash, like to another Phaeton, With hare-brain haste, too hasty lept thereon. But for my boldness dearly did I pay; And had like plague, as he, for being o'er-brave: Yet though in equal fortune both did stay (For life he lost; and death She to me gave); The punisher of both was not the same, For he, by Jove; and I, by Love; was slain.
XII.
THe beauty, that in Paradise doth grow, Lively appears in my sweet goddess's Face; From whence, as from a crystal river, flow Favour divine and comeliness of grace. But in her dainty, yet too cruel, Breast, More cruelty and hardness doth abound; Than doth in painful Purgatory rest. So that, at once, She's fair, and cruel, found: When in her Face and Breast, ah, grief to tell! Bright Heaven she shows; and crafty, hides dark Hell.
XIII.
