So fair Aurora doth herself discover
(Asham’d o’ th’ aged bed of her cold lover,)
In modest blushes, whilst the treacherous light
Betrays her early shame to the world’s sight.
Such a bright colour doth the morning rose
Diffuse, when she her soft self doth disclose
Half drown d in dew, whilst on each leaf a tear
Of night doth like a dissolv’d pearl appear;
Yet ‘twere in vain a colour out to seek
To parallel my Chariessa’s cheek;
Less are [compar’d]1 with greater, and these seem
To blush like her, not she to blush like them.
But whence, fair soul, this passion? what pretence
Had guilt to stain thy spotless innocence?
Those only this feel who have guilty been,
[Not]2 any blushes know, but who know sin.
Then blush no more; but let thy chaster flame,
That knows no cause, know no effects of shame.