See where she sits, and in what comely wise
Drops tears more fair than others' eyes!
Ah, charming maid, let not ill Fortune see
Th' attire thy sorrow wears
Nor know the beauty of thy tears;
For she'll still come to dress herself in thee

As stars reflect on waters, so I spy
In ev'ry drop (methinks) her eye
The baby, which lives there, and always plays
In that illustrious sphere
Like a narcissus does appear
Whilst in his flood the lovely boy did gaze

Ne'er yet did I behold so glorious weather
As this sunshine and rain together;
Pray heav'n her forehead, that pure hill of snow
(For some such fountain we must find
To waters of so fair a kind)
Melt not, to feed that beauteous stream below

Ah! mighty Love, that it were inward heat
Which made this precious limbeck sweat!
But what, alas, ah, what does it avail
That she weeps tears so wond'rous cold
As scarce the ass's hoof can hold
So cold, that I admire they fall not hail