VI
 Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair:
 Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are sunny,
 Her smiles are lightning though her pride despair,
 And her disdains are gall, her favours honey;
 A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour,
 Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love,
 The wonder of all eyes that look upon her:
 Sacred on earth, design'd a saint above.
 Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes,
 Live reconciled friends within her brow;
 And had she pity to conjoin with those,
 Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
 For had she not been fair and thus unkind,
 My muse had slept, and none had known my mind.