He sits me fast how ever I doe sturre,
And now hath made me to his hand so right,
That in the manage, my selfe do take delight.
Stella, the fulnes of my thoughts of thee
Cannot be stayed within my panting brest:
But they do swell and struggle forth of me,
Till that in words thy figure be exprest;
And yet as soone as they so formed be,
According to my Lord Loves owne behest,
With sad eyes I their weake proportion see