Poem by Philip Sidney

Sonnet 18. With What Sharp Checks

With what sharp checks I in myself am shent,
      When into Reason's audit I do go:
      And by just counts myself a bankrout know
Of all those goods, which heav'n to me hath lent:
Unable quite to pay even Nature's rent,
      Which unto it by birthright I do owe:
      And which is worse, no good excuse can show,
But that my wealth I have most idly spent.
      My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys,
My wit doth strive those passions to defend,
Which for reward spoil it with vain annoys.
I see my course to lose myself doth bend:
      I see and yet no greater sorrow take,
      Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake.

1. Philomela
2. Psalm 23
3. You Gote-Heard Gods
4. Voices at the Window
5. Leave Me, O Love, Which Reachest But to Dust

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