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.
See where she sits, & in what comely wise Drops tears more fair than others' eyes.
As stars reflect on waters, so I spy In every 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 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 heat Which 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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