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 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!"