Stella, Thinke Not That I By Verse Seeke Fame, Who Seeke, Who Hope, Who Loue, Who Liue But Thee; Thine Eyes My Pride, Thy Lips Mine History: If Thou Praise Not, All Other Praise Is Shame. Nor So Ambitious Am I, As To Frame A Nest For My Young Praise In Lawrell Tree: In Truth, I Sweare I Wish Not There Should Be Grau'D In My Epitaph A Poets Name. Ne, If I Would, Could I Iust Title Make, That Any Laud Thereof To Me Should Growe, Without My Plumes From Others Wings I Take: For Nothing From My Wit Or Will Doth Flow, Since All My Words Thy Beauty Doth Endite, And Loue Doth Hold My Hand, And Makes Me Write.