In Cyprus springs, whereas Dame Venus dwelt,
A well so hot that who so tastes the same,
Were he of stone, as thawed ice should melt,
And kindlèd find his breast with secret flame;
Whose moist poison dissolvèd hath my hate.
This creeping fire my cold limbs so oppressed
That in the heart that harboured freedom late
Endless despair long thraldom hath impressed.
One eke so cold in frozen snow is found,
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kind
The fervent heat doth quench of Cupid's wound,
And with the spot of change infects the mind;
Whereof my dear hath tasted to my pain.
My service thus is grown into disdain.