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Henry King - SONNET. Dry those fair, those chrystal eyes
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Dry those fair, those chrystal eyes 
Which like growing fountains rise 
To drown their banks. Griefs sullen brooks 
Would better flow in furrow`d looks. 
Thy lovely face was never meant 
To be the shoar of discontent. 
Then clear those watrish starres again 
Which else portend a lasting rain; 
Lest the clouds which settle there 
Prolong my Winter all the Year: 
And the example others make 
In love with sorrow for thy sake.
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