not for some calm blessing to deceive,
Thou didst thy
polish'd hands in shagg'd furs weave;
It were no
blessing thus obtain'd;
Thou rather would'st a curse
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever
Not that you feared the
Might alchymize their silver into
Nor could your ten white nuns so sin,
you should thus pennance them in,
Each in her coarse
hair smock of discipline.
who, on their crest still wore
A lyon, panther,
leopard, or a bore,
To looke their enemies in their
Thou would'st thy hand should deeper pierce,
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.
No, no, LUCASTA, destiny decreed,
to thee a sacrifice should bleed,
themselves to make you gay:
For ne'r yet herald did
A coat, where SABLES upon ERMIN lay.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore,
Salute the threshold, and admire no more;
But I, in
my invention tough,
Rate not this outward bliss
But still contemplate must the hidden muffe.