“What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me! As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed— As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening’s weed— As mellow pears above the crabs esteemèd be— So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!”