Sonnet XLVII. Trust not the treason of those smiling looks

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

TRUST not the treason of those smiling looks,

Until ye have their guileful trains well tried:

For they are like but unto golden hooks,

That from the foolish fish their baits do hide:

So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide

Unto her love, and tempt to their decay;

Whom, being caught, she kills with cruel pride,

And feeds at pleasure on the wretched prey:

Yet, even whilst her bloody hands them slay,

Her eyes look lovely, and upon them smile;

That they take pleasure in her cruel play,

And, dying, do themselves of pain beguile.

O mighty charm! which makes men love their bane,

And think they die with pleasure, live with pain.