Stella is sicke, and in that sick-bed lyes
Sweetenes, that breathes and pants as oft as shee:
And Grace sicke too, such fine conclusions tries,
That sicknes brings it selfe best grac’d to bee.
Beautie is sicke, but sicke in such faire guise,
That in that palenes Beauties white we see,
And Joy which is unsever’d from those eyes.
Stella now learnes, (strange case) to weepe with me,
Love moves thy paine and like a faithful page,
As thy looks sturre, runs up and downe to make
All folkes prest at thy wil thy paine to swage,
Nature with care seeks for his darlings sake,
Knowing worlds passe, ere she enough can finde
Of such heaven stuffe to cloath so heavenly minde.