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.