Let those with cost deck their ill-fashioned clay
Who only are with their fine feathers gay,
Whilst you, despising false and borrowed light,
Shine of yourself more gloriously bright.
Shine of yourself more gloriously bright.
Whatever art can make, or wit invent,
Would be on you superfluously spent;
Your beauty needs no ornament or dress,
And would be made by all additions less.
You still triumph amidst your marriage toil,
And make the brightest virgin but your foil;
Still in its bloom you keep your maiden pride,
And spite of all your children seem a bride.