And Do I See Some Cause A Hope To Feede, Or Doth The Tedious Burden Of Long Wo In Weaken'D Minds Quick Apprehending Breed Of Euerie Image Which May Comfort Shew? I Cannot Brag Of Word, Much Lesse Of Deed, Fortune Wheeles Still With Me In One Sort Slow; My Wealth No More, And No Whit Lesse My Need; Desier Still On Stilts Of Feare Doth Go. And Yet Amid All Feares A Hope There Is, Stolne To My Hart Since Last Faire Night, Nay Day, Stellas Eyes Sent To Me The Beames Of Blisse, Looking On Me While I Lookt Other Way: But When Mine Eyes Backe To Their Heau'N Did Moue, They Fled With Blush Which Guiltie Seem'D Of Loue.