graved in my Epitaph a Poets name.
Nor if I would could I just title make
That anie laud thereof to me should growe
Without my Plumes from others wings I take;
For nothing from my wit or will doth flowe:
Since all my words thy beautie doth indite,
And Love doth hold my hand, and makes me write.
Stella, while now by honours cruell might,
I am from you (light of my light) misled,
And that faire you, my Sunne thus overspred