Louing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show, That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine, Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,...
O teares! no teares, but raine, from Beauties skies, Making those lillies and those roses growe, Which ay most faire, now more then most faire shew, While gracefull Pitty Beautie beautifies....
Stella is sicke, and in that sicke-bed lies Sweetnesse, which breathes and pants as oft as she: And Grace, sicke too, such fine conclusion tries, That Sickenesse brags it selfe best grac'd to be....
Where be those roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes? Where those red cheeks, which oft, with faire encrease, did frame The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame?...
O happie Thames, that didst my Stella beare! I saw thee with full many a smiling line Vpon thy cheerefull face, Ioyes liuery weare, While those faire planets on thy streames did shine....
Enuious wits, what hath bene mine offence, That with such poysonous care my lookes you marke, That to each word, nay sigh of mine, you harke, As grudging me my sorrowes eloquence?...
Thou blind mans marke, thou fooles selfe-chosen snare, Fond fancies scum, and dregs of scatter'd thought: Band of all euils, cradle of causelesse care; Thou web of will, whose end is neuer wrought:...
Vnhappie sight, and hath shee vanisht by So nere, in so good time, so free a place! Dead Glasse, dost thou thy obiect so imbrace, As what my hart still sees thou canst not spie!...
O absent presence! Stella is not here; False-flatt'ring hope, that with so faire a face Bare me in hand, that in this orphane place, Stella, I say my Stella, should appeare:...
Stella, since thou so right a princesse art Of all the Powers which Life bestowes on me, That ere by them ought vndertaken be, They first resort vnto that soueraigne part;...
When Sorrow (vsing mine owne fiers might) Melts downe his lead into my boyling brest Through that darke furnace to my hart opprest, There shines a ioy from thee my only light:...
Leaue, me, O loue which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things. Grow rich in that which neuer taketh rust; Whateuer fades, but fading pleasure brings....
Walking in bright Phoebus' blaze, Where with heat oppressed I was, I got to a shady wood, Where green leaves did newly bud; And of grass was plenty dwelling, Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling....