I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver’d. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one’s for use, the other useth it.

If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help’d her to an heir.

There’s none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.