"Fye foolish Earth, thinke you the heaven wants glory, Because your shadowes doe your selfe be-night? All's darke unto the blind, let them be sory, The heavens in themselves are ever bright.Fye fond desire, thinke you that Love wants glory, Because your shadowes doe your selfe benight? The hopes and feares of lust, may make men sorie, But love still in her selfe finds her delight.Then Earth stand fast, the skye that you benight Will turne againe, and so restore your glory; Desire be steady, hope is your delight, An orbe wherein no creature can be sorie; Love being plac'd above these middle regions, Where every passion warres it selfe with legions."