Sonnet 23

THe curious wits, seeing dull pensiuenes
Bewray it selfe in my long setled eyes:
When these same fumes of mellancholie rise,
With idle paines and missing paines doth gesse;
Some that know how, my spring I did adresse,
Deeme that my Muse some fruite of knowledge plyes:
Others, because the Prince my seruice tryes,
Thinke that I think, State errors to redresse;
But harder Iudges, iudge ambitious rage,
(Scourge of it selfe, till clyming slippery place)
Holds my young braine captiu'd in golden cage.
O fooles, farre otherwise alas the case;
For all my thoughts haue neither stop nor start,
But onely Stellas eyes, and Stellas hart.