She dothe possesse of wit, soe large a share
With meak humility soe sweetly blente,
That truly all arounde her gaze, and saye
Her soule seraphic might a kindred claime
With some brighte angel of heav’n’s blest abode.
Talke not to me of beauty’s fading flower;
Beauty is but an evanescent charme
Which in youth’s sunshine blooms in vivid pride,
But droopes unpitied in the shade of years.
Oh! ’tis the soule of puritie that speakes
When Marian glances that expressive eye,
Mortals enchanted owne her magic power
Which blandly leades them, admiration strucke
To emulate the worthe they soe revere.
July 14th 1616