Sonnet 19

ON Cupids bowe, how are my hart strings bent?
That see my wracke, and yet imbrace the same:
When most I glory, then I feele most shame;
I willing run, yet when I runne repent;
My best wittes still their owne disgrace inuent,
My verie yncke, turnes straight to Stellas name:
And yet my wordes (as them my penne doth frame)
For though she passe all things, yet what is all
That vnto me, that fare like him that both
Lookes to the skyes and in a ditch doth fall,
O let me proue my mind yet in his grouth
And not in nature, for best fruites vnfit;
Scholler saith Loue bend hitherward thy wit.