Philip Sidney

“ And yet my words (as them my penne doth frame)
Against themselves that they are vainely spent. [9]
For though she passe all things, yet what is all
That unto me, who fare like him that both
Lookes to the skyes and in a ditch doth fall,
O let me prop my mind yet in his grouth
And not in nature, for best fruits unfit;
Scholler saith Love bend hitherward your wit.
Fly, flye my friends, I have my deathes wound, flye;
See there that boy, that murthering boy I say,
Who like a thiefe hid in a bush doth lye,
Tyll blooddy bullet get him wrongfull pray. ”

“ Fortune wheels still with me in one sort slowe.
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my neede,
Desier, still on stilts of feare doth goe.
And yet amids all feares, a hope there is
Stolne to my hart: since last faire night (nay day)
Stellas eyes sent to me the beames of blisse,
Looking on mee, while I looke other way:
But when mine eyes backe to their heaven did move:
They fled with blush, which guiltie seem’d of love:
Hope art thou true or doost thou flatter me? ”

“ Stella lookt on, and from her heavenly face,
Sent forth the beames, which made so faire a race.
O Eyes which doe the Spheres of beautie move,
Whose beames all joyes, whose joyes all vertues be: [18]
Who while they make Love conquer, conquer Love,
The Schooles where Venus hath learnd Chastitie;
O eyes, where humble lookes most glorious prove,
Onely loved tyrants just in crueltie. ”

“ Griefe but Loves winter liverie is, the boy
Hath cheekes to smile, so well as eyes weepe.
Come then my Muse, shew the height of delight
In well raisde noates my pen the best it may
Shall paint out joy, though but in blacke and white.
Cease eager Muse, peace pen for my sake stay.
I give you heere my hand for truth of this:
Wise silence is best Musique unto blisse.
Who will in fayrest booke of nature know,
How Vertue may best lodgde in Beautie bee, [30]
Let him but learne of love to read in thee
Stella those faire lines which true goodnes showe. ”

“ Stella, the only Plannet of my light
Light of my life, and life of my desire,
Cheife good, whereto my hope doth onely spire,
World of my wealth and heaven of my delight.
Why doost thou spend the Treasure of thy sprite
With voice more fit to wed Amphyons Lyre?
Seeking to quench in me the noble fyre,
Fed by thy worth and kindled by thy sight.
And all in vaine, for while thy breath most sweete
With choisest words, thy words with reasons rare: [29]
Thy reasons firmely set, are vertues feete,
Labor to kill in me this killing care ”

“ Stella, thinke not that I by verse seeke fame,
Who seeke, who hope, who love, who like, but thee:
Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my historie,
If thou praise not, all other praise is shame. ”

“ Whose faire skinne, beamie eyes, like morning Sunne on snow:
Deceiv’d the quaking boy, who thought from so pure light,
Effects of livelie heate must needes in nature growe.
But shee most faire, most colde; made him thence take his flight
To my close hart; where while some fire brands he did lay,
He burnt unwares his wings, and cannot fly away. ”

“ Where love is chastnes, paine doth learne delight,
And humblenes growes on with majestie;
What ever may ensue, O let me be
Copartner of the ritches of that sight:
Let not mine eyes be driven from that light;
ô looke, ô shine, ô let me die and see,
For though I oft my selfe of them bemone,
That through my hart their beamie darts be gone,
Whose curelesse wounds even nowe most freshly bleede;
Yet since my deaths wound is already got,
Deere killer, spare not thy sweete cruell shot,
A kinde of grace it is to slaye with speede. ”

“ Onely of you the flatterer never lieth.
8 Who hath the voyce which soule from senses sunders,
Whose force but yours the bolt of beautie thunders?
To you, to you all song of praise is due,
Onely with you no miracles are wonders.
9 Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,
Which now my breast orechargd with Musick lendeth?
To you, to you all song of praise is due,
Onely in you my song begins and endeth. Second Sonnet.
Have I caught my heavenly Juel
Teaching Sleepe most faire to be:
Now will I teach her, that she
When shee wakes is too too cruell. ”

“ Of them, which in their lips Loves Standard beare:
What he, (say they of me) now I dare sweare,
He cannot love: no, no, let him alone.
And thinke so still, so Stella know my minde.
Professe in deede, I do not Cupid’s art.
But you faire Maides, at length this true shall find,
That his right badge, is but worne in the hart.
Dumbe Swans, not chattering Pyes doe Lovers prove,
They love in deed, who quake to say they love. ”

“ That inward Sunne in thine eyes shineth so.
And not content to be perfections heir,
Thy selfe doth strive all mindes that way to move:
Who marke in thee what is in deede most faire,
So while thy beautie drives my hart to love,
As fast thy vertue bends that love to good:
But ah, Desire still cryes, give me some food. ”

“ Best charge and brav’st retraite in Cupids sight.
A double key which openeth to the hart,
Most ritch when most his ritches it imparte.
Nest of yong joyes, Scholemaster of delight,
Teaching the meanes at once to take and give,
The friendly fray where blowes do wound and heale,
The prettie death while each in other live,
Poore hopes first wealth a stage of promised weale.
Breakefast of love, but loe, loe where shee is
Cease we to praise, now praie wee for a kisse. ”

“ Yet sighes, deare sighes, in deede true friends you are,
That do not leave your least friend at the wurst:
But as you with my brest I oft have nurst:
So gratefull now you wait upon my care. ”

“ In Justice, paines come not till faults do call:
Or if I needs (sweet Judge) must torments have,
Use something else to chasten mee withall,
Than those blest eyes where all my hopes do dwell,
No doome shall make ones Heaven become his Hell. ”

“ Some fresh and fruitfull showre, upon my Sunne-burnt braine.
But wordes came halting out, wanting inventions stay,
Invention Natures childe, fledde Stepdame studies blowes:
And others feete, still seem’de but strangers in my way,
Thus great with Childe to speake, and helplesse in my throwes,
Byting my trewand penne, beating my selfe for spite:
Foole saide my Muse to mee, looke in thy heart and write.
Not at first sight, nor with a dribbing shot,
Love gave the wound, which while I breath will bleede:
But knowne, worth did in mine of time proceede,
Till by degrees it had full conquest got. ”

“ Yet ah, my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the best.
Oh how the pleasant ayres of true love bee
Inflicted by those vapours, which arise
From out that noysome gulfe: which gaping lies
Betweene the jawes of hellish Jelousey.
A Monster, others harmes, selfe misery.
Beauties plague, Vertues scurge, succour of lyes: [33]
Who his owne joy to his owne heart applyes,
And onely cherish doth with injuries:
Who since he hath by natures speciall grace,
So pearsing pawes as spoyle when they embrace,
So nimble feete as stirre though still on thornes,
So manie eyes aye seeking their owne woe. ”

“ The inward light: and that the heavenly part [3]
Ought to be King, from whose rules who doth swerve,
Rebels to nature, strive for their owne smart.
It is most true, what wee call Cupids dart,
An Image is, which for ourselves we carve:
And fooles adore, in Temple of our hart,
Till that good God make church and Church-men starve.
True that true beautie vertue is in deede,
Whereof this beautie can but be a shade:
Which Elements with mortall mixture breede,
True that on earth we are but Pilgrimes made,
And should in soule, up to our Country move:
True and most true, that I must Stella love. ”

“ Who hath the crimson weeds stoln from the morning skies?
How doth the coullor fade of those vermillion eyes,
Which Nature selfe did make and selfe engrave the same?
I would know by what right this palenes overcame
That hue, whose force my heart in so great thraldom ties? [43]
Gallens adopted sonnes, who by a beaten way
Their judgements hackney on, the fault of sicknes lay:
But feeling proofe makes me say, they mistake it sure,
It is but love that makes this paper perfect white,
To write therein more fresh the storie of Delight,
Whiles Beauties reddest incke Venus for him doth stir. ”

“ The Windowes now, through which this heavenly guest
Lookes ore the world, and can finde nothing such,
Which dare claime from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are, that without touch doe touch,
Which Cupids selfe, from beauties mine did drawe:
Of touch they are, and poore I am their strawe. [5]
Reason, in faith thou art well serv’d, that still
Would’st brabling be, with sence and love in me:
I rather with thee climbe the Muses hill,
Or reach the fruite of Natures chiefest tree:
Or seeke heavens course, or heavens inside to see:
Why should’st thou toyle, our thornie soyle to till? ”

“ That sicknes brings it selfe best grac’d to bee.
Beautie is sicke, but sicke in such faire guise,
That in that palenes Beauties white we see,
And Joy which is unsever’d from those eyes.
Stella now learnes, (strange case) to weepe with me,
Love moves thy paine and like a faithful page,
As thy looks sturre, runs up and downe to make
All folkes prest at thy wil thy paine to swage,
Nature with care seeks for his darlings sake,
Knowing worlds passe, ere she enough can finde
Of such heaven stuffe to cloath so heavenly minde. ”

“ Blest in my curse, and curssed in my blisse.
Oft with true sighes, oft with uncalled teares,
Now with slow words, now with dumbe eloquence,
I Stellas eyes assailde, invade her eares,
But this at last is her sweete breath’d defence,
That who indeede a sound affection beares,
So captives to his Saint both soule and sence, [26]
That wholie Hers, all selfnes he forbeares.
Thence his desire he learnes, his lives course thence,
Now since this chast love, hates this love in mee;
With chastned minde I needes must shew, that shee
Shall quickly me from what she hates remove. ”

“ That ravishing delight in them most sweete tunes doth not raise,
Or if they doe delight therein, yet are so cloid with wit,
As with sententious lips to set a little vaine on it:
O let them heare these sacred tunes, & learne in wonders scholes,
To be (in things past bounds of wit) fooles if they be not fooles. [56]
2 Who have so leaden eyes, as not to see sweete Beauties showe:
Or seeing, have so wooden wits as not that worth to knowe;
Or knowing have so muddie mindes, as not to be in love ”

“ As his maine force, chiefe sport, and easefull stay.
For when he will see who dare him gainsay,
Then with those eyes he lookes, loe by and by,
Each soule doth at Loves feete his weapons lay,
Glad if for her he give them leave to die.
When he will play, then in her lips he is,
Where blushing red, that Loves selfe them do love,
With either lip he doth the other kisse
But when he will for quiets sake remove
From all the world, her hart is then his roome:
Where well he knowes, no man to him can come.
My words I know doe well set forth my minde,
My minde bemones his sence of inward smart ”

“ Pray that my Sunne goe downe with me her beames to bed.
Those lookes, whose beames be joy, whose motion is delight,
That face whose lecture shewes what perfect Beautie is:
That presence which doth give darke hearts a living light,
That grace, which Venus weepes that shee her selfe doth misse.
That hand, which without touch, holdes more than Atlas might,
Those lips, which makes deathes pay a meane prise for a kisse:
That skin, whose past-praise hue scornes this poore tearme of whit,
Those words which doe sublime the quintessence of blisse. ”

“ My feete are turn’d to rootes, my heart becommeth lead,
No witchcraft is so ill, as which mans minde destroyeth.
14 Yet Witches may repent, thou art farre worse than they:
Alas, that I am forst such evill of thee to say:
I say thou art a Divel though cloathd in Angels shining:
For thy face tempts my soule to leave the heavens for thee,
And thy words of refuse doo powre even hell on mee:
Who tempts, and tempting plagues are Divels in true defining. ”

“ Can abide to keepe no measure;
Merrie Flocke, such one forgoe
Unto whom mirth is displeasure,
Onely rich in measures treasure.
3 Yet alas before you goe,
Heare your wofull Masters storie,
Which to stones I else would showe;
Sorrow onely then hath glorie,
When tis excellently sorie. ”

“ Come Sleepe, ô Sleepe, the certaine knot of peace,
The bathing place of wits, the balme of woe,
The poore mans wealth, the prysoners release,
The indifferent judge betweene the high and lowe,
With shield of proofe, shield me from out the presse
Of these fierce darts, Dispaire at me doth throw; ”

“ But them, so sweet is she, most sweetly sing,
With that faire brest, making Woes darknes cleere,
A prittie case I hoped her to bring,
To feele my griefe, and she with face and voice,
So sweetes my paines, that my paines me rejoyce. ”

“ I now have learnd love right, and learnd even so,
As who by being poysond doth poyson know. ”

“ Whom fault once casteth downe, hardly high state recovers.
5 And ô my Muse, though oft you luld her in your lap,
And then a heavenly Childe gave her Ambrosian pap,
And to that braine of hers your highest gifts infused:
Since she disdaining me, doth you in me disdaine, [52]
Suffer not her to laugh, and both we suffer paine:
Princes in subjects wrongd must deeme themselves abused.
6 Your client poore, my selfe, shall Stella handle so,
Revenge, revenge, my Muse defiance trumpet blowe,
Threat, threat, what may be done ”