What is beauty but a breath ?
Fancies twin at birth and death,
The colour of a damask rose,
That fadeth when the northwind blowes:
Tis such that though all sorts do craue it,
They know not what it is that haue it:
A thing that som time stoops not to a king
And yet most open to the commonst thing:
For she that is most fair,
Is open to the aire.
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