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Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face, Prepared by Nature's chiefest furniture, Hath his front built of alabaster pure, Gold is the covering of that stately place. The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace, Red porphyr is, which lock of pearl makes sure; Whose porches rich, which name of cheeks endure, Marble, mixed red and white, do interlace. The windows now, through which this heavenly guest Looks over the world and can find nothing such Which dare claim from those lights the name of best, Of touch they are that without touch doth touch, Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw: Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.
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