Oh her eyes are paths to sin.
Her face was faire, her breath was sweet,
All her lookes for love was meete:
But love is folly this I know,
And beauty fadeth like to snow.
Oh why should man delight in pride,
Whose blossome like a dew doth glide:
When these supposes taught my thought,
That world was vaine, and beautie nought,
I gan to sigh, and say, alas!