3290Since beauty oft displays her plumes at praise,
Then by this doing I myself undo.
But where I virtues find, refined as gold,
Despair shall never make affections cold.
Be pleasèd then to think the god of Love
With gilded arrow has transfixed my heart,
And let my purple breast your pity move.
With balsam of regard allay my smart,
Send thy quick eyes into my breast to see,
What tortures prick my heart to purchase thee.'