Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes, Untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde: For they are lyke but unto golden hookes, That from the foolish fish theyr bayts do hyde: So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde Unto her love, and tempte to theyr decay; Whome being caught, she kills with cruell pryde, And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray. Yet even whylst her bloody hands them slay, Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smyle, That they take pleasure in her cruell play, And, dying, doe them selves of payne beguyle. O mighty charm! which makes men love theyr bane, And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: MARSH SONG - AT SUNSET by SIDNEY LANIER DIFFERENT MINDS by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH LITTLE BELL by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE MORAL FABLES: THE TALE OF THE TWO MICE by AESOP THE COLLEGE, 1917 by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG INVITES POETS AND HISTORIANS TO WRITE IN CYNTHIA'S PRAISE by PHILIP AYRES CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |