THE raging sea, within his limits lies;
And with an ebb, his flowing doth discharge:
The rivers, when beyond their bounds they rise,
Themselves do empty in the ocean large:
But my love's sea, which never limit keepeth;
Which never ebbs, but always ever floweth,
In liquid salt unto my CHLORIS weepeth;
Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth.
This sea, which first was but a little spring,
Is now so great, and far beyond all reason,
That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring;
Which overwhelmèd hath my joying season.
So hard and dry is my Saint's cruel mind;
These waves no way in her to sink can find.