Of A Snowe Balle. Poem by Nicholas Bacon

A wanton wenche vppon a colde daye
With Snowe balles prouoked me to playe:
But theis snowe balles soe hette my desyer
That I maye calle them balles of wylde fyer.
Whoe woulde haue thoughte in this colde snowe
Cupyde woulde hide his fonde fyrye towe,
Or that from water shoulde breede brandes fyrye,
Or colde and moyste shoulde cause hotte and drye?
What place is free from Loues slye workeinge
If vnder snowe his fyer lye lurkeinge?
Noe snowe nor thinge this fyer can quenche
But the like fyer of this like wenche.