O absent presence Stella is not here,
False flattering hope that with so faire a face,
Bare me in hand that in this Orphane place,
Stella I saw, my Stella should appeare,
What saist thou now, where is that dainty cleare
Thou wouldst mine eyes should helpe their famisht case:
But how art thou? now that selfe felt disgrace
Doth make me most to wish thy comfort neere,
But heere I doe shore of faire Ladies meete,
Who may with charme of conversation sweete
Make in my heavie mould new thoughts to grow:
Sure they prevaile as much with me, as he
That bad his frind but then new maimde to be
Merrie with him, and so forget his woe.