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 |