The poem
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 the goods, which heav'n 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 spend.
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.