By the chaste influence of a faire,
Whose vertue shin'd in the bright orbe of love.
Now woman, like a Meteor vapor'd forth
From dunghills, doth amaze our eyes;
Not shining with a reall worth,
But subtile her blacke errors to disguise.
Thus will they talke, Castara, while our dust
In one darke vault shall mingled be.
The world will fall a prey to lust,
When Love is dead, which hath one fate with me.