When I behold that beauties wonderment,
    And rare perfection of each goodly part:
    of natures skill the only complement,
    I honor and admire the makers art.
But when I feele the bitter balefull smart,
    which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in mee:
    that death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart,
    I thinke that I a new Pandora see,
Whom all the Gods in councell did agree,
    into this sinfull world from heaven to send:
    that she to wicked men a scourge should bee,
    for all their faults with which they did offend.
But since ye are my scourge I will intreat,
    that for my faults ye will me gently beat.