LADIES, though to your conquering eyes 
Love owes his chiefest victories, 
And borrows those bright arms from you 
With which he does the world subdue, 
Yet you yourselves are not above 
The empire nor the griefs of love. 

Then rack not lovers with disdain, 
Lest Love on you revenge their pain: 
You are not free because you're fair: 
The Boy did not his Mother spare. 
Beauty 's but an offensive dart: 
It is no armour for the heart.