Sonnet 154 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 diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, |
| Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, |
| Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. - William Shakespeare |