Edmund Spenser - Amoretti: Sonnet 47 lyrics

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.