O fooles, or over-wise, alas the case;
Of all my thoughts have neither stop nor start,
But onely Stellas eyes, and Stellas hart.
Rich fooles there there be, whose base and filthie hart,
Lyes hatching still the goods wherein they flow:
And damning their owne selves to Tantal’s smart,
Welth breeding want, more rich, more wretched grow.
Yet to those fooles, heaven doth such wit impart,
As what their hands doe hold, their heads doe know.
And knowing love, and loving lay apart,