A nun of the Platonic quarry?
Love melts the rigour which the rocks have bred—
A flint will break upon a feather-bed.
For shame, you pretty female elves,
Cease for to candy up your selves;
No more, you sectaries of the game,
20No more of your calcining flame!
Women commence by Cupid's dart
As a king hunting dubs a hart.
Love's votaries enthral each other's soul,