Dost see how unregarded now
  that piece of beauty passes?
There was a time when I did vow
  to that alone;
  but to mark the fate of faces.
That red and white works now no more on me,
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,
  and I have yet desires,
Am still the self same flesh and blood,
  as apt to melt
  and suffer from those fires.
Oh, some kind power unriddle where it lies,
Whether her face be guilty or my eyes?

She every day her man does kill,
  and I as often die.
Neither her power then, nor my will
  can questioned be,
  what is they mystery?
Sure beauty's empires, like to greater states
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.