1 Why presumes thy pride on that that must so priuate be ?
Scarce that it can good be cal'd, though it seemes best to thee.
Best of all that Nature fram'd, or curious eye can see.
2 Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a blossome growes,
Which who viewes no more enioyes then on a bush a Rose,
That by manies handling fades; and thou art one of those.
3 If to one thou shalt proue true, and all beside reiect,
Then art thou but one mans good, which yeelds a poore effect ;
For the common'st good by farre deserues the best respect.
4 But if for this goodnesse thou thy selfe wilt common make,
Thou art then not good at all; so thou canst no way take
But to proue the meanst good, or else all good forsake.
5 Be not then of beauty proud, but so her colours beare,
That they proue not staines to her that them for grace should weare ;
So shalt thou to all more fayre then thou were borne appeare.
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