Disswation from Presumption

Ladies, you that seeme so nice,

And as cold in shew as Ice,

And perhaps have held out thrice,

Doe not think but in a trice,

One or other may entice,

And at last by some device,

Set your honours at a price.

You whose smooth and dainty skin,

Rosie lips, or cheeks, or chin,

All that gaze upon you win;

Yet insult not, sparks within,

Slowly burn ere flames begin,

And presumption still hath bin

Held a most notorious sin.