Sonnet 18

WIth what strange checkes I in my selfe am shent,
When into Reasons Audit I doe goe:
And by such counts my selfe a Banckerowt know
Of all those goods which heauen to me hath lent,
Vnable quite, to pay euen Natures rent,
Which vnto it by birth-right I doe owe:
And which is worse, no good excuse can showe,
But that my wealth I haue most idly spent,
My wit doth waste, my knowledge bringes forth toyes,
My wit doth striue, those passions to defende
With my rewarde, the spoile of vaine annoyes;
I see my course, to loose my selfe doth bende.
I see and yet no greater sorrowe take
Than that I loose no more for Stellas sake.