Love borne in Greece, of late fled from his native place
Forst by a tedious proofe, that Turkish hardned hart
Where no fit marke, to pearce with his fine pointed dart:
And pleased with out lost peace, staide here his fleeting race.

But finding these North climes, too coldlie im imbrace,
Not usde to frosen clippes, he strave to finde some part
Where with most ease and warmth, he might imploy his art.
At length he preach'd himselfe in Stellas joyfull face,

Whose faire skinne, beamie eyes, like morning Sunne on snow:
Deceiv'd by quaking boy, who thought from so pure light,
Effects of livelie heate must needes in nature growe.
But shee most faire, most colde; made him thence take his flight.

	To my close hart; where while some fire brands he did lay,
	He burnt unwares his wings, and cannot fly away.