Sonnet 67

STella, the onely Plannet of my light,
Light of my life, and life of my desire,
Cheife good, vvhereto my hope doth sole aspire;
World of my wealth and heauen of my delight.
Why doost thou spend the Treasure of thy sprite
With voice more fit to vved Amphyons Lyre?
Seeking to quench in me the noble fyre,
Set by thy wrath and kindled by thy sight.
And all in vaine, for while thy breath so sweete
With choisest words; thy wordes with reasons rare:
Thy reasons firmely set, are vertues feete,
Labour to kill in me this killing care
Oh thinke I then, what Paradise of ioy
It is, so faire a vertue to annoy.