The Sonnets

The little Love-god lying once asleep,

Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,

Whilst many nymphs that vowʼd chaste life to keep

Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand

The fairest votary took up that fire

Which many legions of true hearts had warmʼd;

And so the general of hot desire

Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmʼd.

This brand she quenched in a cool well by,

Which from Loveʼs fire took heat perpetual,

Growing a bath and healthful remedy,

For men diseasʼd; but I, my mistressʼ thrall,

Came there for cure and this by that I prove,

Loveʼs fire heats water, water cools not love.