Though not in tune nor wing she reach thy lark,

Her lyric feet may dance before the ark.

Who knows, but that her wandering eyes that run, 15

Now hunting glowworms, may adore the sun:

A pure flame may, shot by Almighty power

Into her breast, the earthly flame devour:

My eyes in penitential dew may steep

That brine, which they for sensual love did weep. 20

So (though ’gainst nature’s course) fire may be quenched

With fire, and water be with water drenched;