To the Moone (Sonnet 8)

PHoebe looke downe, and heere behold in mee,
The elements within thy sphere inclosed,
How kindely Nature plac'd them vnder thee,
And in my world, see how they are disposed;
My hope is earth, the lowest, cold and dry,
The grosser mother of deepe melancholie,
Water my teares, coolde with humidity,
Wan, flegmaticke, inclinde by Nature wholy;
My sighes, the ayre, hote, moist, ascending higher,
Subtile of sanguine, dyde in my ha…ts dolor,
My thoughts they be the element of fi…e,
Hote, dry, and piercing, still inclinde to choler,
Thine eye the Orbe vnto all these, from whence
Proceedes th'effects of powerfull influence.