What bright-soft thing is this,
Sweet Mary, thy faire eyes' expence?
A moist sparke it is,
A watry diamond; from whence
The very tearme, I think, was found,5
The water of a diamond.
II.
O, 'tis not a teare:
'Tis a star about to dropp
From thine eye, its spheare;
The sun will stoope and take it up:10
Proud will his sister be, to weare
This thine eyes' iewell in her eare.
III.
O, 'tis a teare,
Too true a teare; for no sad eyne,
How sad so 'ere,15
Raine so true a teare, as thine;
Each drop leaving a place so deare,
Weeps for it self; is its owne teare.
IV.
Such a pearle as this is,
Slipt from Aurora's dewy brest—20
The rose-bud's sweet lipp kisses;
And such the rose it self that's vext
With ungentle flames, does shed,
Sweating in a too warm bed.
V.
Such the maiden gem,25
By the purpling vine put on,
Peeps from her parent stem,
And blushes on the bridegroom sun;
The watry blossome of thy eyne
Ripe, will make the richer wine.30