Dost see how unregarded now
 That piece of beauty passes?
There was a time when I did vow
 To that alone;
 But mark the fate of faces;
The red and white works now no more on me
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,
 And I have still desires,
Am still the selfsame flesh and blood,
 As apt to melt
 And suffer from those fires;
Oh some kind pow'r unriddle where it lies,
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes?

She ev'ry day her man does kill,
 And I as often die;
Neither her power then, nor my will
 Can question'd be.
 What is the mystery?
Sure beauty's empires, like to greater states,
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.