"For He that Looked not Upon Her" You must not wonder, though you think it strange, To see me hold my louring head so low, And that mine eyes take no delight to range About the gleams which on your face do grow. The mouse which once hath broken out of trap Is seldom ’ticèd with the trustless bait, But lies aloof for fear of more mishap, And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit. The scorchèd fly, which once hath ’scaped the flame, Will hardly come to play again with fire, Whereby I learn that grievous is the game Which follows fancy dazzled by desire: So that I wink or else hold down my head, Because your blazing eyes my bale have bred. This excerpt is from which book?