See where she sits, and in what comely wiseDrops tears more fair than others' eyesAh, charming maid! let not ill-fortune seeTh' attire thy sorrow wears,Nor know the beauty of thy tears;For she 'll still come to dress herself in thee.
See where she sits .??
As stars reflect on waters, so I spyIn every drop, methinks, her eye.The baby, which lives there, and always playsIn 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 sun-shine and rain together.Pray Heaven 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 heatWhich made this precious limbeck sweet!But what, alas! ah, what does it avail,That she weeps tears so wondrous cold.As scarce the ass's hoof can hold,So cold, that I admire they fall not hail.
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