THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM (7)
| VII. Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle； Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty； Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is brittle； Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty： A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her, None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. |
