Weeping.

SEE where she sits, and in what comely wise,
Drops Tears more fair then 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 her self in Thee.

As stars reflect on waters, so I spy
In every drop (methinks) her Eye.
The Baby, which lives there, and always playes
In that illustrious sphaere,
Like a Narcissus does appeare,
Whilst in his flood the lovely Boy did gaze.

Nere yet did I behold so glorious weather,
As this Sun-shine and Rain together.
Pray Heav'en 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 wondrous cold,
As scarce the Asses hoof can hold,
So cold, that I admire they fall not Hail.