Astrophel and Stella: 19

On Cupids bow how are my heart-strings bent,That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same?When most I glorie, then I feele most shame:I willing run, yet while I run, repent.My best wits still their owne disgrace inuent:My verie inke turnes straight to Stellas name;And yet my words, as them my pen do frame,Avise themselues that they are vainely spent.For though she passe all things, yet what is allThat vnto me, who fare like him that bothLookes 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 vnfit:Scholler, saith Loue, bend hitherward your wit.