Sonnet 154
b"
The little Love-god, lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd 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 warm'd,
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
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 diseas'd, but I, my mistress' thrall,
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.