Anonymous Americas

My Love in Her Attire






My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
  It doth so well become her:
  For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
  For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
  No Beautie shee doth misse,
  When all her Robes are on:
  But Beauties selfe shee is,
  When all her Robes are gone.

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