Edmund Spenser

Amoretti

XLVII
Trust not the treason of those smiling looks,
Until ye have their guilefull trains well tried;
For they are like but unto golden hooks,
That from the foolish fish their baits do hide:
So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide
Unto her love, and tempt to their decay,
Whom being caught she kills with cruel pride,
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray:
Yet even whilst her bloody hands them slay,
Her eyes look lovely and upon them smile:
That they take pleasure in her cruel play,
And dying do themselves of pain beguile.
O mighty charm which makes men love their bane,
And think they die with pleasure, live with pain.

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