Your morals note straight my hid meaning there,
From out my ribs a whirlewind proves that I
Doe Stella love. Fooles, who doth it denie?
Unhappie sight and hath shee vanisht by,
So neere, in so good time so free a place,
Dead glasse dost thou thine object so imbrase,
As what my hart still sees thou canst not spie,
I sweare by hir Love and my lacke, that I
Was not in fault that bent my dazling race
Onely unto the heaven of Stella’s face,