Sions Sonets: Sonet 18

THrice fairer than the fairest, whose sad teares,
And smiling words, have charm'd our eyes, our eares;
Say, whither is this prize of beauty gone,
More faire than kinde, to let thee weepe alone?
Thy tempting lips have whet our dull desire,
And till we see him, we are all on fire:
Wee'll finde him out, if thou wilt be our guide:
The next way to the Bridegroome, is the Bride.