With what strange checkes I in my selfe am shent,
When into Reasons Audit I doe goe:
And by just counts my selfe a Bankerowt know
Of all those goods which heaven to me hath lent,
Unable quite, to pay even Natures rent,
Which unto it by birth-right I doe owe:
And which is worse, no good excuse can showe,
But that my wealth I have most idely spent,
My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toyes,
My wit doth strive, those passions to defende
Which for reward, spoyle it with vaine annoyes;
I see my course, to lose my selfe doth bende.
I see and yet no greater sorrowe take
Than that I looke no more for Stellas sake.