Beholde myne eyes as fountaynes springeinge,
Beholde my harte as brymstone burninge:
Myne eyes to water my corps woulde turne,
My harte to asshes my corps woulde burne:
Blynde Cupyde this temperature hathe wroughte
To be styll dyeinge that deathe hathe soughte,
A wonder to see couched in one thus,
fflames of Ætna and fludes of Nilus.