Stella, while now by honours cruell might,
I am from you (light of my light) misled,
And that faire you, my Sunne thus overspred
With absence vale I live in sorrowes night.
If this darke place yet shewe by candle light
Some Beauties peece, as amber collourd hed,
Milke hands, rose cheekes, or lips more sweet more red,
Or seeming jett black, but in blacknes bright
They please I doe confesse, they please mine eyes,
But whie? because of you they moddels be;
Moddels such be wood globes of glistering skyes.
Deare therefore be not jealous over me,
If you heare that they seeme my heart to move,
Not them, no no, but you in them I love.