text: The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness
  Bewray itself in my long-settl'd 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 ragei
  Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry placei
  Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage.
  O fool or over-wise! alas, the race
  Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start
  But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.