Philip Sidney,
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
(1907)
“ For God knows, it would not trouble me to be slain for thee, but much it torments me to be slain by thee; thou art untrue, Pamphilus, thou art untrue, and woe is me therefore. How oft did’st thou swear unto me that the sun should lose his light, and the rocks run up and down like little kids, before thou would’st falsify thy faith to me? sun therefore put out thy shining, and rocks run mad for sorrow; for Pamphilus is false. But alas! the sun keeps his light, though thy faith be darkened; the rocks stand still, though thou change like a weather-cock. ”
