Whil'st curiously I gaz'd on beauties skies,
My soule in litle liquid ruslets runne,
Like snowie mountaines melted with the Sunne,
Was liquified through force of two faire eyes,
Thence sprang pure springs and neuer-tainted streames,
In which a Nymph her image did behold,
And cruell she (ah, that it should be told)
Whiles daign'd to grace them with some chearfull beames,
Till once beholding that her shadow so,
Made those poore waters partners of her praise,
She by abstracting of her beauties rayes,
With griefe congeal'd the source from whence they flow:
But through the yce of that vniust disdaine,
Yet still transpares her picture and my paine.