I.
What bright-soft thing is this,
Sweet Mary, thy faire eyes' expence?
A moist sparke it is,
A watry diamond; from whence
The very tearme, I think, was found,
The water of a diamond.
II.
O, 'tis not a teare:
'Tis a star about to dropp
From thine eye, its spheare;
The sun will stoope and take it up:
Proud will his sister be, to weare
This thine eyes' iewell in her eare.
III.
O, 'tis a teare,
Too true a teare; for no sad eyne,
How sad so 'ere,
Raine so true a teare, as thine;
Each drop leaving a place so deare,
Weeps for it self; is its owne teare.
IV.
Such a pearle as this is,
Slipt from Aurora's dewy brest—
The rose-bud's sweet lipp kisses;
And such the rose it self that's vext
With ungentle flames, does shed,
Sweating in a too warm bed.
V.
Such the maiden gem,
By the purpling vine put on,
Peeps from her parent stem,
And blushes on the bridegroom sun;
The watry blossome of thy eyne
Ripe, will make the richer wine.
VI.
Faire drop, why quak'st thou so?
'Cause thou streight must lay thy head
In the dust? O, no!
The dust shall never be thy bed:
A pillow for thee will I bring,
Stuft with downe of angel's wing.
VII.
Thus carried up on high
(For to Heaven thou must goe),
Sweetly shalt thou lye,
And in soft slumbers bath thy woe,
Till the singing orbes awake thee,
And one of their bright chorus make thee.
VIII.
There thy selfe shalt bee
An eye, but not a weeping one;
Yet I doubt of thee,
Whether th' had'st rather there have shone
An eye of heaven; or still shine here,
In the heaven of Marie's eye, a TEARE.