Stella, the fulnes of my thoughts of thee
Cannot be stayed within my panting brest:
But they do swell and struggle forth of me,
Till that in words thy figure be exprest;
And yet as soone as they so formed be,
According to my Lord Loves owne behest,
With sad eyes I their weake proportion see
To portract what within this world is best.
So that I cannot chuse but write my minde,
And cannot chuse but put out what I write,
While those poore babes their death in birth doe find;
And now my penne these lynes had dashed quite,
But that they stop his furie from the same:
Because their fore-front beares sweet Stellas name.