Sonnet 49

STella, the fulnes cannot staied be
Of hidden thoughts, within my panting brest:
But they doe swell and struggle forth of me,
Till that in words thy figure be exprest;
And yet as soone as they thus formed be,
According to my Lord Loues owne behest,
With sad eyes I their weake proportion see
To portract what within this world is blest.
So that I cannot chuse but write my minde,
And cannot chuse but put out that I write,
While those poore babes their death in birth doe find;
And now my penne these lynes had dashed quite,
But that they stop his furie from the same:
Because their fore-front beares sweet Stellas name.