Stella, the only Plannet of my light
Light of my life, and life of my desire,
Cheife good, whereto my hope doth onely spire,
World of my wealth and heaven of my delight.
Why doost thou spend the Treasure of thy sprite
With voice more fit to wed Amphyons Lyre?
Seeking to quench in me the noble fyre,
Fed by thy worth and kindled by thy sight.
And all in vaine, for while thy breath most sweete
With choisest words, thy words with reasons rare:
Thy reasons firmely set, are vertues feete,
Labor to kill in me this killing care
Oh thinke I then, what Paradise of joy
It is, so faire a vertue to enjoye.