Ile rather bleed to death then lift a sword In my defence, whose inconsiderate brightnes May fright the Roses from your cheeke and leave The Lillies to lament the rude divorce.

There in his bosome Sapience doth sit, The soveraine dearling of the Deity, Clad like a queene in royall robes, most fit 185 For so great powre and peerelesse maiesty, And all with gemmes and iewels gorgeously Adornd, that brighter then the starres appeare, And make her native brightnes seem more cleare.