Lock’d up in woman’s love. I scent the air
Of blessings when I come but near the house:
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth!
The violet-bed’s not sweeter. Honest wedlock
Is like a banquetting-house built in a garden,
On which the spring’s chaste flowers take delight
To cast their modest odours; when base lust,
With all her powders, paintings, and best pride,
Is but a fair house built by a ditch side.
When I behold a glorious dangerous strumpet,