Dry those fair, those crystal eyes

Dry those fair, those crystal eyes,

Which, like growing fountains, rise,

To drown their banks: grief's sullen brooks

Would better flow in furrow'd looks;

Thy lovely face was never meant

To be the shore of discontent.

Then clear those waterish stars again,

Which else portend a lasting rain;

Lest the clouds which settle there,

Prolong my winter all the year,

And thy example others make

In love with sorrow for thy sake.