A Prosopopoeia, wherein His Heart Speaks to His Second Lady's Breast

I dare not in my master's bosom rest,
That flaming Aetna would to ashes burn me;
Nor dare I harbour in his mistress' breast.
The frosty climate into ice would turn me;
So both from her and him I do retire me.
Lest th' one should freeze me, and the other fire me.

Winged with true love, I fly to this sweet breast.
Whose snow, I hope, will cool, but t' ice not turn me;
Where fire and snow, I trust, so tempered rest.
As gentle heat will warm, and yet not burn me.
But oh dear breast! from thee I'll ne'er retire me,
Whether thou cool, or warm, or freeze, or fire me.