But when on women's colours they do light.
Then (bribed) they look as through a painted glass,
So that what women are we never see
But what we wish and fancy them to be.
'Mongst thousand virgins which do suck this air,
I never knew but one, but one—one good;
[1700]Whom I supposèd full as good as fair,
And she was making e'er Deucalion's flood:
But she—alas! what should I say?—but she
Is woe to man, a woman unto me.'