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| To the Countesse of Huntingdon. |
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| Man to Gods Image, Eve to mans was made [227] |
| Nor find wee that god breathd a soule in her |
| Cannons will not Church functions you invade |
| Nor Lawes to Ciuill office you preferre. |
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| Who vagrant transitory Comets sees |
| Wonders because th'are rare. But a new starre |
| Whose motion with the firmament agrees |
| Is Miracle, for |there| no new things are. |
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| In woman so, perchance, mild Innocence |
| A seldome Comet is, but Actiue good |
| A Miracle which Reason scapes and sence |
| ffor Art and Nature this in them withstood. |
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| As such a starre the Magis lead to view |
| The Manger-cradled Infant, God below |
| By vertues beames (by fame deriud from you) |
| May apt soules, and the worst may vertue knowe. |
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| If the worlds Age and death bee argued well |
| By the Sunns fall, w.ch now towards Earth doth bend |
| Then wee might feare that Vertue, since shee fell |
| So low as woman, should bee neere her end |
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| But shee's not stoop'd but raysd, Exil'd by men, |
| Shee fledd to heauen, that's heauenly things, that's you |
| Shee was on all men thinly scatterd then |
| But now a masse* contracted in a few. |
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| Shee guilded vs, but you are Gold, and shee |
| Informed vs, but transubstantiats you |
| Soft dispositions w.ch ductile bee |
| Elixar-like shee makes, not cleane but new.
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[CW: Though you___] |