| SONNET 154 |
PARAPHRASE |
| The little Love-god lying once asleep |
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| Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, |
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| Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep |
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| Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand |
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| The fairest votary took up that fire |
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| Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; |
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| And so the general of hot desire |
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| Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. |
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| This brand she quenched in a cool well by, |
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| Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, |
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| Growing a bath and healthful remedy |
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| For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, |
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| Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, |
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| Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. |
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