Fretwork

Go crystal tears, like to the morning showers,
And sweetly weep into thy lady`s breast.
And as the dews revive the drooping flow`rs.
So let your drops of pity be address`d
To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,
Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.

Haste, restless sighs, and let your burning breath
Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart,
Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
Feels never any touch of my desert,
Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice
Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.