Thou dost entice the minde to dooing euill,
Thou setst dissention twixt the man and wife;
A Saint in show, and yet indeed a deuill:
Thou art the cause of euerie common strife;
Thou art the life of Death, the death of Life!
Thou doost betray thyselfe to Infamie,
When thou art once discernd by the eye.
Ah, little knew Matilda of thy being,
Those times were pure from all impure complection;
Then Loue came at Desert, Desert of seeing,