Wittes Pilgrimage, Sonnet 48

THe fatall beames thou dartest from thine Eyes
(Like Basilisks work on me, in effect:
Yet from them doth my remedy arise
By glassing mine, in thine, them to reflect:
For, in mine Eyes, shouldst thou thy self but see
Thy Beames would make thee in self-loue to burn:
Then, harm me not and I wil not hurt thee:
Els on thy selfe thy Beauties Beames ile turne.
Thinke not because thy Hart is Adamant
That thy bright Raies wil but thereon rebound
No, to thy selfe theil make thee mercy grant,
And loue that grace that hurts & heals the wound:
Then let thine Eye-beames grace infuse in mine
Or, for thy plague, ile riuet mine in Thine.