The little love god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed 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 warmed,
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men discased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 140: Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel; Do Not Press
- Sonnet 66: Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry
- Sonnet 143: Lo, As A Careful Huswife Runs To Catch
- Sonnet 122: Thy Gift, Thy Tables, Are Within My Brain
- Sonnet 126: O Thou, My Lovely Boy, Who In Thy Power