Philautia

A VIRGINS face with Robes of light aray,
Why hath (Selfe-loue) our Poets thee assign'd?
Philaut: Loue should be young, and fresh as merry MAY,
Such clothing best agreeth with my mind.
What meanes that poisonous Serpent in thy hand?
Philaut: My bane I breed, by this you vnderstand.

I'th other hand say why that looking glasse?
Since in thee no deformitie I find,
Philaut: Know how in Pride Selfe-loue doth most surpasse,
And still is in her Imperfections blind:
And saue her owne devises doth condemne,
All others labours, in respect of them.