Delia: Sonnet 40

DELIA, these eyes that so admireth thine,
Haue seene those walls the which ambition reared,
To check the world, how they intombd haue lyen.
Within thēselues; & on them ploughes haue eared.
Yet found I that no barbarous hand attaind.
The spoyle of same deseru'd by vertuous men:
VVhose glorious actions luckily had gaind,
Th'eternall Annals of a happy pen.
Why thē though DELIA fade, let that not moue her,
Though time doe spoile her of the fairest vaile
That euer yet mortalitie did couer;
Which must instarre the needle and the Raile.
That grace, that vertue, all that seru'd t'in-woman,
Dooth thee vnto eternitie assommon.