_Stella_, the only Plannet of my light Light of my life, and life of my desire, Cheife good, whereto my hope doth onely spire, World of my wealth and heaven of my delight. Why doost thou spend the Treasure of thy sprite With voice more fit to wed _Amphyons_ Lyre? Seeking to quench in me the noble fyre, Fed by thy worth and kindled by thy sight. And all in vaine, for while thy breath most sweete With choisest words, thy words with reasons rare: Thy reasons firmely set, are vertues feete, Labor to kill in me this killing care Oh thinke I then, what Paradise of joy It is, so faire a vertue to enjoye. Oh joy, too high for my Love still to showe, Oh blisse, fit for a nobler seat than mee Envie put out thine eyes, least thou doe see What _Oceans_ of delight in me doth flowe. My friend that oft saw’st through all maskes, my woe, Come, come, and let me poure myself on thee: Gone is the winter of my miserie. My spring appeares, ô see what heere doth growe, For _Stella_ hath with wordes (where faith doth shine) Of her high hart given me the Monarchie I, I, ô I may say that she is mine. And though she give but thus condicionally, This Realme of blisse, while vertues course I take, No Kings be Crownd, but they some covenant make. My Muse may well grudge at my heavenly joy, Yf still I force her in sad rymes to creepe: She oft hath drunke my teares, now hopes t’enjoy _Nectar_ of mirth, since I _loves_ Cup do keepe. Sonnets be not bound Prentice to annoy, Trebbles sing high, so well as bases deepe: Griefe but Loves winter liverie is, the boy Hath cheekes to smile, so well as eyes weepe. Come then my Muse, shew the height of delight In well raisde noates my pen the best it may Shall paint out joy, though but in blacke and white. Cease eager Muse, peace pen for my sake stay. I give you heere my hand for truth of this: Wise silence is best Musique unto blisse. Who will in fayrest booke of nature know, How Vertue may best lodgde in Beautie bee, Let him but learne of love to read in thee _Stella_ those faire lines which true goodnes showe. There shall he finde all vices overthrowe: Not by rude force, but sweetest soveraigntie Of reason, from whose light, the night birdes flie, That inward Sunne in thine eyes shineth so. And not content to be perfections heir, Thy selfe doth strive all mindes that way to move: Who marke in thee what is in deede most faire, So while thy beautie drives my hart to love, As fast thy vertue bends that love to good: But ah, Desire still cryes, give me some food.