The fairest flowers have not the sweetest smell;
A seeming heaven proves oft a damning hell.
Self-pleasing souls, that play with beauty’s bait, 25
In shining shroud may swallow fatal hook;
Where eager sight on semblant fair doth wait,
A lock it proves, that first was but a look:
The fish with ease into the net doth glide,
But to get out the way is not so wide. 30
So long the fly doth dally with the flame,
Until his singèd wings do force his fall;