Sir Philip Sidney

What length of verse can serve brave Mopsa’s good to show, Whose virtues strange, and beauties such, as no man them may know? Thus shrewdly burden, then, how can my Muse escape? The gods must help, and precious things must serve to show her shape. Like great god Saturn, fair, and like fair Venus, chaste; As smooth as Pan, as Juno mild, like goddess Iris fast. With Cupid she foresees, and goes god Vulcan’s pace; And for a taste of all these gifts, she borrows Momus’ grace. Her forehead jacinth-like, her cheeks of opal hue, Her twinkling eyes bedecked with pearl, her lips of sapphire blue, Her hair pure crapall stone, her mouth, O heavenly wide, Her skin like burnished gold, her hands like silver ore untried. As for those parts unknown, which hidden sure are best, Happy be they which believe, and never seek the rest.

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain, Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,— I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others’ leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention’s stay: Invention, Nature’s child, fled step-dame Study’s blows, And others’ feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite: “Fool,” said my Muse to me, “look in thy heart and write.”

My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a bargain better driven. His heart in me keeps me and him in one; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his because in me it bides. His heart his wound received from my sight; My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his hurt did light, So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart: Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, My true love hath my heart and I have his.

Whose sense in so evil consort, their stepdame Nature lays, That ravishing delight in them most sweet tunes do not raise; Or if they do delight therein, yet are so cloyed with wit, As with sententious lips to set a title vain on it: O let them hear these sacred tunes, and learn in wonder’s schools, To be (in things past bounds of wit) fools, if they be not fools. Who have so leaden eyes, as not to see sweet beauty’s show, Or seeing, have so wooden wits, as not that worth to know; Or knowing, have so muddy minds, as not to be in love; Or loving, have so frothy thoughts, as eas’ly thence to move: Or let them see these heavenly beams, and in fair letters read A lesson fit, both sight and skill, love and firm love to breed. Hear then, but then with wonder hear; see but adoring see, No mortal gifts, no earthly fruits, now here descended be; See, do you see this face? a face? nay, image of the skies, Of which the two life-giving lights are figured in her eyes: Hear you this soul-invading voice, and count it but a voice? The very essence of their tunes, when Angels do rejoice.

Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread; For Love is dead— All love is dead, infected With plague of deep disdain; Worth, as nought worth, rejected, And Faith fair scorn doth gain. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said That Love is dead? His death-bed, peacock's folly; His winding-sheet is shame; His will, false-seeming holy; His sole exec'tor, blame. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Let dirge be sung and trentals rightly read, For Love is dead; Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth My mistress' marble heart, Which epitaph containeth, "Her eyes were once his dart." From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Alas, I lie, rage hath this error bred; Love is not dead; Love is not dead, but sleepeth In her unmatched mind, Where she his counsel keepeth, Till due desert she find. Therefore from so vile fancy, To call such wit a franzy, Who Love can temper thus, Good Lord, deliver us!

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making, And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth For Tereus’ force on her chaste will prevailing. O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish But Tereus’ love, on her by strong hand wroken, Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish; Full womanlike complains her will was broken. But I, who daily craving, Cannot have to content me, Have more cause to lament me, Since wanting is more woe than too much having. O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

from Certain Sonnets Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light, That both doth shine and give us sight to see. O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to slide, Who seeketh heav'n, and comes of heav'nly breath. Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see: Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.

Only joy, now here you are, Fit to hear and ease my care; Let my whispering voice obtain, Sweet reward for sharpest pain; Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Night hath closed all in her cloak, Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke: Danger hence good care doth keep, Jealousy itself doth sleep; Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Better place no wit can find, Cupid’s yoke to loose or bind: These sweet flowers on fine bed too, Us in their best language woo; Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. This small light the moon bestows, Serves thy beams but to disclose, So to raise my hap more high; Fear not else, none can us spy: Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. That you heard was but a mouse, Dumb sleep holdeth all the house; Yet asleep, methinks they say, Young folks, take time while you may: Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Niggard Time threats, if we miss This large offer of our bliss, Long stay ere he grant the same; Sweet then, while each thing doth frame, Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Your fair mother is abed, Candles out, and curtains spread: She thinks you do letters write. Write, but first let me indite: Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Sweet, alas, why strive you thus? Concord better fitteth us: Leave to Mars the force of hands, Your power in your beauty stands; Take me to thee, and thee to me. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. Woe to me, and do you swear Me to hate, but I forbear, Cursèd by my destines all That brought me so high to fall: Soon with my death I will please thee. No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.

"Who is it that this dark night Underneath my window plaineth?" It is one who from thy sight Being, ah, exil'd, disdaineth Every other vulgar light. "Why, alas, and are you he? Be not yet those fancies changed?" Dear, when you find change in me, Though from me you be estranged, Let my change to ruin be. "Well, in absence this will die; Leave to see, and leave to wonder." Absence sure will help, if I Can learn how myself to sunder From what in my heart doth lie. "But time will these thoughts remove; Time doth work what no man knoweth." Time doth as the subject prove; With time still the affection groweth In the faithful turtle-dove. "What if you new beauties see? Will not they stir new affection?" I will think they pictures be, Image-like, of saints' perfection, Poorly counterfeiting thee. "But your reason's purest light Bids you leave such minds to nourish." Dear, do reason no such spite; Never doth thy beauty flourish More than in my reason's sight. "But the wrongs love bears will make Love at length leave undertaking." No, the more fools it do shake, In a ground of so firm making Deeper still they drive the stake. "Peace, I think that some give ear! Come no more, lest I get anger!" Bliss, I will my bliss forbear; Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; But my soul shall harbour there. "Well, begone; begone, I say, Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you!" Oh, unjust Fortune's sway, Which can make me thus to leave you; And from louts to run away.

Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware, That you allow me them by so small rate? Or do you cutted Spartans imitate? Or do you mean my tender ears to spare, That to my questions you so total are? When I demand of Phoenix Stella's state, You say, forsooth, you left her well of late: O God, think you that satisfies my care? I would know whether she did sit or walk; How cloth'd, how waited on; sigh'd she, or smil'd; Whereof, with whom, how often did she talk; With what pastime time's journey she beguiled; If her lips deign'd to sweeten my poor name. Say all; and all well said, still say the same.