The dimmer shafts of wingèd Cupid's bow
Borrow from brighter, [and] the brightest pay
980Homage unto Bellama—beauty's day.
I tell thee there's not one small worth of hers
But loudly says that foppish Nature errs
In other beauties: nor is this all, for why?
Her thoughts pluck stars, and dark th' imperial sky.
Virtue and beauty both: why, 'tis as rare
As frosts in June or comets in the air,
As crows in Africk, Æolus want puffs,