"When I appeare, I strike the Optick Nerve, Beauty.
I wound the Heart, I make the Passions serve.
Soules are my Prisoners, yet love me so well,
My Company is Heaven, my absence Hell.
Each Knee doth bow to me, as to a Shrine,
And all the World accounts me as Divine.
Beauty, you cannot long Devotion keep: Wit.
The Mind grows weary, Senses fall a sleep."