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Come Stela then out of thy watry brooke
And see how I am staying for thee heere,
To my request vouchsafe a gracious looke,
Calling vpon thee with most heauie cheere:
Yet thy disdaine (as I hope for the best)
Will not deny my pitifull request,
When that thou know’st my wealth without compare,
My selfe of person nimble, stout and faire:
I did behold my selfe not long agoe
Within a fountaine cleerer then the skie,
I view’d my selfe from top vnto the toe,
And without doubt my person pleasd mine eie:
Your Iupiter, and euery heauenly creature
Enuies my stature, and my comely feature:
Your mightie God, to whom you sacrifice,
And honour so, whose Godhead I despise.
Behold againe what curled lockes of haire
Falling vpon my shoulders, and my face,
And goodly beard doth make me seeme so faire,
And to my person giues a manly grace.
Thinke that my body is not foule therefore,
Bicause of bristled haire it hath such store.
Foule is the tree when Autumnes course bereaues
Her boughes of fruit, of greene, and comely leaues.
How lookes the horse that hath no crest, or maine,
Nor bushie taile to grace his body foorth;
How lookes the hauke that hath no wings, nor traine,
Faire is the wooll of sheepe and mickle woorth.
The man lookes bald that hath no comely beard,
And as with sprites he had beene lately feard:
Then foule I am not with my beard, and haire,
Since with the same I am more perfect faire.
Besides all this I come of no base blood,
For God Syluanus is my noble Sire:
Thy father he shall be, if thou thinke good;
Then pitie me, and graunt me my desire:
Harke then to me, scorne not to see my paine,
Let not my sighes and teares be spent in vaine:
Onely of thee, and humbly I doe craue
Of this poore wretch some pitie now to haue.
I which doe scorne the furious thunder blowe
Of Iupiter, and other Gods despise,
Thee, Stela, for my Goddesse I doe knowe,
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