As soon may water wipe me dry,
And fire my heat allay,
As you with favour of your eye
Make hot desire decay.
The more I have,
The more I crave;
The more I crave, the more desire,
As piles of wood increase the fire.

The senseless stone that from on high
Descends to earth below,
With greater haste itself doth ply,
The less it hath to go;
So feels desire
Increase of fire,
That still with greater force doth burn,
Till all into itself it turn.

The greater favour you bestow,
The sweeter my delight;
And by delight desire doth grow,
And growing gathers might:
The less remains,
The more my pains,
To see myself so near the brink,
And yet my fill I cannot drink.