Go crystal tears, like to the morning showers,
And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast,
And as the dews revive the dropping flowers,
So let your drops of pittie be addressed:
To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,
Which sleeps to sound whilst I from her depart.
Hast hapless sighs and let your burning breath
Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart,
Whose frozen rigor like forgetful death,
Feels never any touch of my dessert:
Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice
Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.