To Dianeme

SWEET, be not proud or those two eyesWhich starlike sparkle in their skies;Nor be you proud, that you can seeAll hearts your captives; yours yet free:Be you not proud of that rich hairWhich wantons with the lovesick air;Whenas that ruby which you wear,Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,Will last to be a precious stoneWhen all your world of beauty's gone.