The Cruelty of Hidden Charms

I neuer saw youe, madam, laye aparte
Your cornet black, in colde nor yet in heate,
Sythe first ye knew of my desire so greate,
Which other fances chaced cleane from my harte.
Whiles to my self I did the thought reserve
That so vnware did wounde my wofull brest,
Pytie I saw within your hart dyd rest;
But since ye knew I did youe love and serve,
Your golden treese was clad alway in blacke,
Your smilyng lokes were hid thus euermore,
All that withdrawne that I did crave so sore.
So doth this cornet governe me, a lacke!
In sommere, sonne; in winter, breath of frost;
Of your faire eies whereby the light is lost.