THe Panther knowing that his spotted hyde, <br />Doth please all beasts but that his looks the[m] fray: <br />within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide, <br />to let them gaze whylest he on them may pray. <br />Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play, <br />for with the goodly semblant of her hew: <br />she doth allure me to mine owne decay, <br />and then no mercy will vnto me shew. <br />Great shame it is, thing so diuine in view, <br />made for to be the worlds most ornament: <br />to make the bayte her gazers to embrew, <br />good shames to be so ill an instrument. <br />But mercy doth with beautie best agree, <br />as in theyr maker ye them best may see.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-liii-2/
