Sweet, Be Not Proud Of Those Two Eyes, Which, Star-Like, Sparkle In Their Skies; Nor Be You Proud, That You Can See All Hearts Your Captives, Yours, Yet Free; Be You Not Proud Of That Rich Hair Which Wantons With The Love-Sick Air; When As 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.