Black Eyes; in your dark Orbs do lye,
My ill or happy destiny,
If with cleer looks you me behold,
You give me Mines and Mounts of Gold;
If you dart forth disdainfull rayes,
To your own dy, you turn my dayes.
Black Eyes, in your dark Orbes by changes dwell.
My bane or blisse, my Paradise or Hell.
That Lamp which all the Starres doth blind,
Yeelds to your lustre in some kind,