Sonet 25

Cleare mouing cristall, pure as the Sunne beames,
Which had the honor for to be the glasse,
Of the most daintie beautie euer was;
And with her shadow did inrich thy streames,
Thy treasures now cannot be bought for monie,
Whil'st she dranke thee, thou drank'st thy fill of loue,
And of those roses didst the sweetnes proue,
From which the Bees of loue do gather honie:
Th'ambrosian liquor that he fils aboue,
Whom th'Eagle rauish'd from th'inferior round,
It is not like this Nectar (though renown'd)
Which thou didst tast, whil'st she her lips did moue:
But yet beware lest burning with desires,
That all thy waters cannot quench thy fires.