Veil, Love, mine eyes! O hide from me

Veil, Love, mine eyes! O hide from me
The plagues that charge the curious mind!
If beauty private will not be,
Suffice it yet that she proves kind.
Who can usurp heaven's light alone?
Stars were not made to shine on one!

Griefs past recure, fools try to heal,
That greater harms on less inflict,
The pure offend by too much zeal;
Affection should not be too strict.
He that a true embrace will find,
To beauty's faults must still be blind.