None dares now look more on my Lauras face,
So dangerous is her beautie to behold:
For he no sooner gives to her the gaze,
But straight his hart she takes from him so bold:
Such vertue's lockt within those ebbon Eyes,
Where (dallying with Delight) Dan Cupid lyes.
So sweetly rouleth shee that radiant Spheare,
As she (from whom she lists) robs suddenly:
So as to looke on her each one doth feare,
And yet to looke on her spare will not I:
For though I loose my Hart, and him disease,
I like shall my Desire, and her Ile please.