text: O absent presence, Stella is not here;
      False flattering hope, that with so fair a face
      Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place
  Stella, I say my Stella, should appear.
  What sayst thou now? Where is that dainty cheer
      Thou toldst mine eyes should help their famished case?
      But thou art gone, now that self-felt disgrace
  Doth make me most to wish thy comfort near.
      But here I do store of fair ladies meet,
      Who may with charm of conversation sweet
  Make in my heavy mould new thoughts to grow:
      Sure they prevail as much with me, as he
      That bade his friend, but then new maimed, to be
  Merry with him, and not think of his woe.