As Good To Write, As For To Lie And Grone. O Stella Deare, How Much Thy Powre Hath Wrought, That Hast My Mind (Now Of The Basest) Brought My Still-Kept Course, While Others Sleepe, To Mone! Alas, If From The Height Of Vertues Throne Thou Canst Vouchsafe The Influence Of A Thought Vpon A Wretch That Long Thy Grace Hath Sought, Weigh Then How I By Thee Am Ouerthrowne, And Then Thinke Thus: Although Thy Beautie Be Made Manifest By Such A Victorie, Yet Noble Conquerours Do Wreckes Auoid. Since Then Thou Hast So Farre Subdued Me That In My Heart I Offer Still To Thee, O Do Not Let Thy Temple Be Destroyd!