Amoretti: Sonnet 47 Edmund Spenser
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Amoretti: Sonnet 47" by Edmund Spenser. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes,
untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde:
for they are lyke but unto golden hookes,
that from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe hyde:
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde
unto her love and tempte to theyr decay,
whome being caught she kills with cruell pryde,
and feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray:
Yet even whylst her bloody hands them slay,
her eyes looke lovely and upon them smyle:
that they take pleasure in her cruell play,
and dying doe them selves of payne beguyle.
O mighty charm which makes men love theyr bane,
and thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne.
untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde:
for they are lyke but unto golden hookes,
that from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe hyde:
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde
unto her love and tempte to theyr decay,
whome being caught she kills with cruell pryde,
and feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray:
Yet even whylst her bloody hands them slay,
her eyes looke lovely and upon them smyle:
that they take pleasure in her cruell play,
and dying doe them selves of payne beguyle.
O mighty charm which makes men love theyr bane,
and thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne.
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