WHen I behold that beauties wonderment, <br />And rare perfection of each goodly part; <br />of natures skill the only complement, <br />I honor and admire the makers art. <br />But when I feele the bitter balefull smart, <br />which her fayre eyes vnwares doe worke in mee: <br />that death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart, <br />I thinke that I a new Pandora see. <br />Whom all the Gods in councell did agree, <br />into this sinfull world from heauen to send: <br />that she to wicked men a scourge should bee, <br />for all their faults with which they did offend, <br />But since ye are my scourge I will intreat, <br />that for my faults ye will me gently beat.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxiiii/
