TRust not the treason of those smyling lookes, <br />vntill ye haue theyr guylefull traynes well tryde: <br />for they are lyke but vnto golden hookes, <br />that from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe hyde: <br />So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde, <br />vnto her loue and tempte to theyr decay, <br />whome being caught she kills with cruell pryde, <br />and feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray: <br />Yet euen whylst her bloody hands them slay, <br />her eyes looke louely and vpon them smyle: <br />that they take pleasure in her cruell play, <br />and dying doe them selues of payne beguyle. <br />O mighty charm which makes men loue theyr bane, <br />and thinck they dy with pleasure, liue with payne.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xlvii-2/
