Who kiss to shield yourselves from blame,

And kiss for justifying;

How am I better now or worse,

Beguiler or beguiled,

Who crave to nurse a clay-cold corse,

And kiss a dead child?

 vii 

vii

O I was shap't in comeliness,

My face was fashion'd fair,

My breath was sweet, I used to bless

The treasure of my hair;

A many prais'd my body's grace,

And follow'd with the eye

My faring in the village ways,

And I knew why.

[Pg 12]

Love came my way, fire-flusht and gay,

Where I did stand:

"This is the day your pride to lay

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