Sonnet 154
The little Love-god lying once asleepLaid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keepCame tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fireWhich many legions of true hearts had warm'd;And so the general of hot desireWas 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 remedyFor 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.