Anne Killigrew

We are Diana’s virgin train, Descended of no mortal strain: Our bows and arrows are our goods, Our palaces the lofty woods. * * * If you ask where such wights do dwell,

The bloody wolf, the wolf does not pursue; The boar, though fierce, his tusk will not embrue In his own kind, Bears, not on bears do prey: Then art thou, man, more savage far than they.

I willingly accept Cassandra's fate, To speak the truth, although believ'd too late.

More rich, more noble I will ever hold The Muse's laurel, than a crown of gold.