Astrophel and Stella: 23

The curious wit seeing dull pensiuenesseBewray it selfe in my long setled eyes,Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,With idle paines, and missing ayme do guesse.Some that know how my spring I did addresse,Deeme that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies:Others, because the Prince my service tries,Thinke that I thinke state errours to redresse.But harder Iudges judge ambitions rage,Scourge of it selfe, still climing slipprie place,Holds my young braine captiu'd in golden cage.O fooles, or ouer-wise, alas the raceOf all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start,But onely Stellas eyes and Stellas harte.