Damon, I temper absence's extreme,
And gladly do remain, or come, or go.
For she who was from birth a living theme,
Type of the deathless beauty in the skies,
Worthy of marble, temple, diadem,
Even my Phyllis, blinds th' covetous eyes,
With her rare virtue and her modest zeal,
So that I fear not; none will wrest the prize.
The strait subjection that my soul doth feel
Before hers, and the purpose raised on high,