128. To Dianeme
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes,Which, star-like, 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 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.