Astrophel and Stella: 92

Be your words made (good Sir) of Indian ware,That you allow me them by so small rate?Or do you cutted Spartanes imitate,Or do you meane my tender eares to spare?That to my questions you so totall are,When I demaund of Phœnix Stellas state,You say forsooth, you left her well of late:O God, thinke you that satisfies my care?I would know whether she sit or walke,How cloth'd, how waited on, sigh'd she or smilde,Whereof, with whom, how often did she talke,With what pastime, times journey she beguilde,If her lips daig'nd to sweeten my poore name,Say all, and all, well sayd, still say the same.