Astrophel and Stella: XXIII

The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness
    Bewray itself in my long-settl'd eyes,
    Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
    With idle pains and missing aim do guess.
    Some, that know how my spring I did address,
    Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies;
    Others, because the prince my service tries,
    Think that I think state errors to redress;
    But harder judges judge ambition's rage--
  Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry place--
  Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage.
  O fool or over-wise! alas, the race
  Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start
  But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.