University of Virginia Library

In praise of a little Mole-like Scab, that like a rude Scab, chanced to take my Fancies Soueraigne by the hand.

So pure's the Fountaine of her pretious Blood,
As if is (through the Veynes that it conuay)

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Meetes ought, that (like her) is not passing good,
It thrusts it out, which in the skin doth stay.
Yet, while it stayes; a Scab, O call it not,
(Sith it is but her deere Blouds cheaper part)
Nay, call it not so much as Mole, or Spot:
But, Beauties Shadow, done by Natures Art.
Or if not so (though so it seemes to Sence)
Call it Perfections BVT; wherein she shootes
Her Angers Shafts, against the Pestelence,
To pull Infection from her by the Rootes:
Or if not so, call it Dianaes STAND,
Wherein shee stood to strike the Deere (her HAND.)