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See where she sits
par
Henry Purcell
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See where she sits, and in what comely wise Drops tears more fair than others' eyes! Ah, charming maid, let not ill Fortune see Th' attire thy sorrow wears Nor know the beauty of thy tears; For she'll still come to dress herself in thee As stars reflect on waters, so I spy In ev'ry drop (methinks) her eye The baby, which lives there, and always plays In that illustrious sphere Like a narcissus does appear Whilst in his flood the lovely boy did gaze Ne'er yet did I behold so glorious weather As this sunshine and rain together; Pray heav'n her forehead, that pure hill of snow (For some such fountain we must find To waters of so fair a kind) Melt not, to feed that beauteous stream below Ah! mighty Love, that it were inward heat Which made this precious limbeck sweat! But what, alas, ah, what does it avail That she weeps tears so wond'rous cold As scarce the a**'s hoof can hold So cold, that I admire they fall not hail
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