My words shall be as spotless as my youth, Full of simplicity and naked truth. This sacrifice, whose sweet perfume descending From Venus' altar, to your footsteps bending, Doth testify that you exceed her far, To whom you offer, and whose nun you are. Why should you worship her? her you surpass As much as sparkling diamons flaring glass. A diamond set in lead his worth retains; A heavenly nymph, belov'd of human swains, Receives no blemish, but oftimes more grace; Which makes me hope, although I am but base, Base in respect of thee divine and pure, Dutiful service may thy love procure; And I in duty will excel all other, As thou in beauty dost exceed Love's mother. Nor heaven nor thou were made to gaze upon: As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one. A stately builded ship, well rigg'd and tall, The ocean maketh more majestical: Why vow'st thou, then, to live in Sestos here, Who on Love's seas more glorious wouldst appear? Like untun'd golden strings all women are, Which long time lie untouch'd, will harshly jar. Vessels of brass, oft handed, brightly shine: What difference betwixt the richest mine And basest mould, but use? for both, not us'd, Are of like worth. Then treasure is abus'd, When misers keep it: being put to loan, In time it will return us two for one. Rich robes themselves and others do adorn; Neither themselves nor others, if not worn. Who builds a palace, and rams up the gate, Shall see it ruinous and desolate: Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish! Lone women, like to empty houses, perish. Less sins the poor rich man, that starves himself In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf, Than such as you: his golden earth remains, Which, after his decease, some other gains; But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone, When you fleet hence, can be bequeath'd to none; Or, if it could, down from th' enamell'd sky All heaven would come to claim this legacy, And with intestine broils the world destroy, And quite confound Nature's sweet harmony. Well therefore by the gods decreed it is, We human creatures should enjoy that bliss. One is no number; maids are nothing, then, Without the sweet society of men. Wilt thou live single still? one shalt thou be, Though never singling Hymen couple thee. Wild savages, that drink of running springs, Think water far excels all earthly things; But they, that daily taste neat wine, despise it: Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, Compar'd with marriage, had you tried them both, Differs as much as wine and water doth. Base bullion for the stamp's sake we allow: Even so for men's impression do we you; By which alone, our reverend fathers say, Women receive perfection every way. This idol, which you term virginity, Is neither essence subject to the eye, No, nor to any one exterior sense, Nor hath it any place of residence, Nor is't of earth or mould celestial, Or capable of any form at all. Of that which hath no being, do not boast: Things that are not at all, are never lost.