His Misery in a Mistress

Water, water I espy;Come and cool ye, all who fryIn your loves; but none as I.

Though a thousand showers beStill a-falling, yet I seeNot one drop to light on me.

Happy you who can have seasFor to quench ye, or some easeFrom your kinder mistresses.

I have one, and she alone,Of a thousand thousand known,Dead to all compassion.

Such an one as will repeatBoth the cause and make the heatMore by provocation great.

Gentle friends, though I despairOf my cure, do you bewareOf those girls which cruel are.