As good to write, as for to lie and groane, O _Stella_ deere, how much _thy_ power hath wrought, That hast my minde now of the basest brought, My still kept course while others sleepe to moane; Alas if from the height of Vertues throane, Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a thought, Upon a wretch which long _thy_ grace hath sought, Way then how I by thee am overthrowne; And then thinke thus, although _thy_ beautie be Made manifest, by such a victorie, Yet noblest Conquerers doe wreake avoide; Since then _thou_ hast so farre subdued me, That in my hart I offer still to _thee_, O doe not let thy Temple be destroide. Having this days, my horse, my hand, my Launce Guided so well, that I obtaind the prize, Both by the judgment of the English eyes, And of some sent from that sweet enmie Fraunce, Horsmen my skill in horsmanship advaunce, Towne folke my strength: a daintier Judge applies His praise to flight, which from good use doth rise: Some luckie wits, impute it but to chaunce: Others, because from both sides I doe take My blood, from them that doe excell in this, Thinke Nature me a man at Armes did make. How farre they shoot awry; the true cause is, _Stella_ lookt on, and from her heavenly face, Sent forth the beames, which made so faire a race. O Eyes which doe the Spheres of beautie move, Whose beames all joyes, whose joyes all vertues be: Who while they make Love conquer, conquer Love, The Schooles where _Venus_ hath learnd Chastitie; O eyes, where humble lookes most glorious prove, Onely loved tyrants just in crueltie. Doe not, doe not, from poore me, once remove, Keepe still my Zenith, ever shine on me; For though I never see them, but straight waies My life forgets to nourish languisht sprights: Yet still on me (ô eyes) dart downe your rayes; And if from Majestie of sacred Lights Oppressing mortall sence, my death proceede: Wreckes tryumphs best, which Love hie set doth breed. Faire eyes, sweet lips, deere hart, that foolish I Could hope by _Cupids_ helpe, on you to pray: Since to himselfe he doth your gifts apply, As his maine force, chiefe sport, and easefull stay. For when he will see who dare him gainsay, Then with those eyes he lookes, loe by and by, Each soule doth at Loves feete his weapons lay, Glad if for _her_ he give them leave to die. When he will play, then in _her_ lips he is, Where blushing red, that Loves selfe them do love, With either lip he doth the other kisse But when he will for quiets sake remove From all the world, _her_ hart is then his roome: Where well he knowes, no man to him can come.