What may words say? or what may words not say,
Where truth it selfe must speake like flattery?
Within what bounds can one his lyking stay,
Where Nature doth with infinite agree?
What Nestors counsell can my flames allay,
Since Reasons selfe doth blow the coles to me?
And ah, what hope that hope should once see day,
Where Cupid is sworne page to Chastitie;
Honour is honoured that thou dost possesse
Him as thy slave, and now long needie Fame
Doth even grow rich, meaning my Stellas name;
Wit learnes in thee perfection to expresse,
Not thou by praise, but praise in thee is raised,
It is a praise, to praise where thou art praised.