To Dianeme (Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes)

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes

Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies;

Nor be you proud that you can see

All hearts your captives, yours yet free;

Be you not proud of that rich hair

Which wantons with the love-sick air;

Whenas that ruby which you wear,

Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

Will last to be a precious stone

When all your world of beauty's gone.