Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes,
untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde:
for they are lyke but unto golden hookes,
that from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe hyde:
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde
unto her love and tempte to theyr decay,
whome being caught she k**s with cruell pryde,
and feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray:
Yet even whylst her bloody hands them slay,
her eyes looke lovely and upon them smyle:
that they take pleasure in her cruell play,
and dying doe them selves of payne beguyle.
O mighty charm which makes men love theyr bane,
and thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne.