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.