The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long-settled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some, that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the Prince my service tries, Think, that I think state errors to redress; But harder judges judge, ambition's rage, Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place, Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage. O fools, or over-wise! alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start, But only STELLA'S eyes, and STELLA'S heart. IV Because I oft in dark abstracted guise Seem most alone in greatest company, With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, To them that would make speech of speech arise; They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, That poison foul of bubbling _Pride_ doth lie So in my swelling breast, that only I Fawn on myself, and others do despise; Yet _Pride_, I think, doth not my Soul possess, Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass: But one worse fault--_Ambition_--I confess, That makes me oft my best friends overpass, Unseen, unheard--while Thought to highest place Bends all his powers, even unto STELLA'S grace. V Having this day, my horse, my hand, my lance, Guided so well that I obtained the prize, Both by the judgment of the English eyes, And of some sent from that _sweet enemy_,--France; Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; Townsfolk my strength; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise; Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them, who did excel in this, Think Nature me a man of arms did make. How far they shot awry! the true cause is, STELLA look'd on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. VI In martial sports I had my cunning tried, And yet to break more staves did me address, While with the people's shouts (I must confess) Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride-- When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, "What now, Sir Fool!" said he; "I would no less: Look here, I say." I look'd, and STELLA spied, Who hard by made a window send forth light. My heart then quak'd, then dazzled were mine eyes; One hand forgot to rule, th'other to fight; Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries. My foe came on, and beat the air for me-- Till that her blush made me my shame to see. VII