Delia these eyes that so admireth thine,
Haue seene those walles the which ambition reared,
To checke the world, how they intombd haue lyen
Within themselues; and on them ploughes haue eared.
Yet for all that no barbarous hand attaynde,
The spoyle of fame deseru’d by vertuous men:
Whose glorious actions luckely had gainde,
Th’eternall Annalls of a happie pen.
Why then though Delia fade let that not moue her,
Though time do spoyle her of the fairest vaile
That euer yet mortallitie did couer;
Which shall instarre the needle and the trayle.
That grace, that vertue, all that seru’d t’in-woman;
Dooth her vnto eternitie assommon.