XVIII.
With what sharp checks I in myself am shent, When into REASON'S audit I do go; And by just counts, myself a bankrupt know Of all those goods which heaven to me hath lent.
Unable quite, to pay even Nature's rent,
Which unto it by birthright I do owe: And which is worse, no good excuse can show, But that my wealth I have most idly spent.
My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys;
My wit doth strive those passions to defend, Which for reward, spoil it with vain annoys.
I see my course to lose myself doth bend;
I see, and yet no greater sorrow take, Than that I lose no more for STELLA'S sake.
XIX.
In CUPID's bow, how are my heart-strings bent! That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same. When most I glory, then I feel most shame. I willing run; yet while I run, repent.
My best wits still their own disgrace invent.
My very ink turns straight to STELLA'S name; And yet my words—as them, my pen doth frame— Advise themselves that they are vainly spent.
For though she pass all things, yet what is all
That unto me; who fares like him that both Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall?
O let me prop my mind, yet in his growth,
And not in nature for best fruits unfit! "Scholar!" saith LOVE, "bend hitherward your wit!"
