IF Sea, no other thing doth shew to be
Than most unstable waters moving oft:
With pardon, Lady, you this seem to me;
So most unstable is your changing thought.
I, likewise, hold a River, that o'erwhelms
With wat'ry salt, within these eyes of mine.
Then let us make a mixture 'mongst ourselves
Of this unsteadfastness and wat'ry brine!
Let's fashion, both of us, a novel Sea!
So heaven, the Haven; and Love, the Bay shall be.