What sugred termes, what all-perswading arte,
What sweet mellifluous words, what wounding lookes
Love usd for his admittance to my hart?
Such eloquence was never read in bookes;
He promisd pleasure, rest, and endlesse joy,
Fruition of the fairest shee alive,
His pleasure paine, rest trouble, joy annoy,
Have I since found, which me of bliss deprive;
The Trojan horse thus have I now let in,
Wherein inclosd these armed men were plac'd,
Bright eyes, faire cheekes, sweet lips, & milk white skin
These foes my life have overthrown & raz'd.
Faire outward shewes, prove inwardly the worst,
Love looketh faire, but Lovers are accurst.