Lutea Allison

Though you, Diana-like, have liv'd still chaste,Yet must you not (fair) die a maid at last:The roses on your cheeks were never madeTo bless the eye alone, and so to fade;Nor had the cherries on your lips their being,5To please no other sense than that of seeing:You were not made to look on, though that beA bliss too great for poor mortality:In that alone those rarer parts you have,To better uses sure wise nature gave10Than that you put them to; to love, to wed,For Hymen's rights, and for the marriage-bedYou were ordain'd, and not to lie alone;One is no number, till that two be one.To keep a maidenhead but till fifteen,15Is worse than murder, and a greater sinThan to have lost it in the lawful sheetsWith one that should want skill to reap those sweets:But not to lose 't at all—by Venus, this,And by her son, inexpiable is;20And should each female guilty be o' th' crime,The world would have its end before its time.