The heavenly nature of that place is such:
That once come there, the sobs of my annoyes,
Are metamorphos’d straight to tunes of joyes.
Stella oft sees the verie face of woes
Painted in my beclowded stormie face:
But cannot skill to pittie my disgrace;
No though thereof the cause her selfe shee knowes.
Yet hearing late a fable which did show,
Of Lovers never knowne, (a grievous case)
Pittie thereof got in her breast such place,