Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 37. What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses

What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attyre under a net of gold,
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or haire may scarse be told?
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker harts, which are not wel aware?
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,
In which if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.
  Fondnesse it were for any, being free,
  To covet fetters, though they golden bee! 

1. Amoretti 61. The glorious image of the Makers beautie
2. Amoretti 14. Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd
3. Amoretti 24. When I behold that beauties wonderment
4. Amoretti 36. Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have end
5. Amoretti 10. Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this

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