UCSB LIBRARY
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 (1554-1586) 
 
 From the Portrait once in possession of Fulke Greville, 
 Lord Brooke
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Sonnets and Miscellaneous Verse 
 
 Mary Sidney, Countess 
 of Pembroke 
 
 Hymn to Astraea, etc. 
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 Friend's Passion for his Astrophel 
 
 Sidneian tho'wers 
 Of fwett discourse, ^uhoie poviers 
 Can croivn old Winter t head -with Jto-wers . 
 CHASHAW : Witkci. 
 
 J. R. Tutin 
 
 Hull 
 
 1905 
 
 Limited to 150 Copies
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 (1554-1586) 
 
 Astrophel , . . 
 
 TK admired mirror, glory of our Isle, 
 Thou far-far-more than mortal man, whose style 
 Struck more nun dumb to hearken to thy song 
 Than Orpheus' harp or Tully's golden tongue. 
 To him (as right} for wit's deep quintessence, 
 For honour, valour, virtue, excellence, 
 Be all the garland, crown his tomb with bay, 
 Who spake as much as e'er our tongue can say. 
 
 WILLIAM BROWNE : Britannia's Pastorals 
 Bk. II. Song ii. //. 247-256. 
 
 Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke 
 
 (1561-1621) 
 
 Urania, sister unto Astrophel, 
 In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer, 
 All heavenly gifts and riches locked are ; 
 More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir, 
 And in her sex more wonderful and rare. 
 
 SPENSER : Colin Clouts Come Home Again.
 
 Contents 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 5 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 I. SONNETS AND QUATORZAINS 
 
 Heart's Transcript 
 
 " Full Conquest " . 
 
 " No Muse but One " 
 
 "Yet . . . I must Stella love " 
 
 Stella's Face 
 
 Love's Childlikeness 
 
 Stella Truest Nurse of Fame 
 
 Amor Praeceptor 
 
 Love's Astrology . 
 
 "Of Fellowship, O Moon " 
 
 Stella's Enriching Name . 
 
 " Rich " : A Lover's " Riddle" in Rhyme 
 
 Invocation to Sleep 
 
 Through Stella's Glance . 
 
 Stella's Eyes 
 
 ' ' Those Morning Stars " . 
 
 The Lover " cannot choose but write " 
 
 He sees his Shame in Stella's Blush 
 
 Cupid's " Right Badge" worn only in the Heart 
 
 Give Passion leave 
 
 Wise Silence ' ' Best Music unto Bliss " 
 
 Saucy Love. 
 
 " Inspired with Stella's Kiss" 
 
 Corona Vera 
 
 " In no more but these " . 
 
 Stella's Kiss 
 
 Pardon, Sweet Nymph 
 
 Highway ! 
 
 Disavowal . 
 
 "Say all" . 
 
 Stella Sick . 
 
 On seeing the Winds playing with Stella's Hair 
 
 Basilius' " Love-Complaint " 
 
 8 
 8 
 9 
 9 
 10 
 
 IO 
 
 II 
 II 
 
 13 
 12 
 *3 
 13 
 14 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 IS 
 16 
 16 
 17 
 17 
 18 
 18 
 19 
 19 
 
 20 
 2O 
 21 
 21 
 22 
 22 
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 24
 
 Contents 
 
 The Bargain .... 
 
 Musidorus to Pamela 
 
 Philoclea "disburdens her Secret Passion" 
 
 Musidorus' Song .... 
 
 A Farewell .... 
 
 Renouncement . . 
 
 "Treasure in Heaven" 
 
 PACK 
 24 
 as 
 25 
 26 
 26 
 27 
 
 27 
 
 II. MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 
 
 To Stella ... * 28 
 
 A Stolen Kiss . . 29 
 
 " No, No, No ! " . 30 
 
 Astrophel's Wooing . 32 
 
 The Woeful Shepherd's Plaint 34 
 
 Love's Herald Thought . 36 
 
 Nocturne ... 37 
 
 Dorus' Song to Mopsa . 39 
 
 Gynecia's Vow . . 39 
 
 Epitaph ... 40 
 
 Dametas' "Rural Poesy" . 40 
 
 Madrigal ... 41 
 
 Dicus' Epithalamium . 41 
 
 Philomela ... 44 
 
 Song ... 45 
 
 " Heart and Soul do sing in me " 47 
 
 Wooing Stuff . . 48 
 
 Child Song ... 49 
 
 Song ... 49 
 
 Bane and Balm . . 50 
 
 In Death's Despite . . 51 
 
 Dirge ... ' 52 
 
 Geron to Histor . . 53 
 
 MARY SIDNEY, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE 
 
 The Doleful Lay of Clorinda .... 54 
 In Praise of Astraea ..... 57 
 
 MATTHEW ROYDON 
 Elegy ; or, Friend's Passion for his Astrophel . . 60 
 
 GLOSSARY . 
 
 68
 
 Prefatory Note 
 
 THIS little volume has been compiled in the hope that 
 it will supply in some measure, at any rate what is 
 unquestionably a felt need. For though the name of 
 Sir Philip Sidney is as familiar in the ears of English- 
 men " as household words," and he himself deservedly 
 honoured as one of the most chivalrous and romantic 
 figures in our country's history ; and though his 
 reputation as a writer of graceful and " poetic " prose 
 is sufficiently well established, it cannot be said that 
 his verse has yet received the recognition which is its 
 due. True, anthologists have familiarised the general 
 reader with a few of the more notable of the Astrophel 
 and Stella sonnets, while at least one other poem of 
 Sidney's, in quasi-sonnet form the exquisite lines from 
 the Arcadia, commencing, " My true love hath my 
 heart " has taken its place among the most beautiful 
 of our national songs. Still, the bulk of Sidney's 
 verse and in particular the lyrical part of it is 
 known to comparatively few save the lovers of that 
 glorious legacy which Elizabethan England bequeathed 
 to us three centuries ago. It may be that Astrophel 
 and Stella has suffered in regard to later apprecia- 
 tion of its beauty and its power by reason of those 
 very characteristics which stamp it as so distinctive a 
 product of its writer and its age : its closely 
 imitative quality ; its burden of poetical " conceits " ; 
 its author's fondness for the " swelling phrase " ; its 
 aloofness from the more humanising realities of the 
 ordinary lover's passion ; and the further fact of its 
 kinship in style and literary character with the 
 Arcadia. Nevertheless, it remains true that Sidney 
 has yet to come into the poetical kingdom that is his 
 by every literary and artistic right. 
 
 Of the story commonly supposed to be unfolded in 
 the famous sonnet-sequence which has been so largely 
 laid under contribution in the accompanying selection, 
 
 5
 
 Prefatory Note 
 
 and which takes rank second only to the greatest of 
 that splendid Elizabethan line, it is not the place here 
 to speak in detail. Regarding with disfavour, as the 
 present editor does, the theory of the serious 
 and intimately autobiographical significance of these 
 poems, of which so much has been made by many 
 latter-day writers, he has not scrupled, where neces- 
 sary, to separate them from their context, and to let 
 each sonnet speak for itself under a title of his own 
 devising. In the case also of the majority of the 
 remaining pieces, it may be remarked, the titles are 
 the present writer's own. He trusts, however, that 
 the liberty he has thus taken may not be regarded as 
 in any sense derogatory to the genius of the maker of 
 the poems themselves. 
 
 Mary Sidney, whose name has come down to us 
 inextricably intertwined with that of her illustrious and 
 devoted brother, is represented by her two extant 
 original productions in verse. Apart from her memor- 
 able association with Sir Philip in regard to the 
 latter's famous pastoral romance, and to their joint 
 authorship of a metrical version of the Psalter ; apart, 
 moreover, from the loveliness of her own character, 
 Mary Sidney merits grateful recognition and remem- 
 brance as a bountiful and disinterested patroness of 
 poets among whom was the writer represented in 
 the concluding section of this booklet and as, in 
 point of time, the first English authoress of repute. 
 
 The trio enumerated on our title-page is completed 
 by the name of Matthew Roydon (/?. 1588-1622), a 
 writer of no little distinction in his day, whose Elegy 
 given here in its entirety, notwithstanding its unequal 
 character, though usually represented in quotation by 
 a few of the more musical and smoothly-flowing of its 
 stanzas was one of the most notable contributions to 
 that rich stream of obituary verse which flowed in 
 so full a flood from Zutphen's battlefield, and which 
 Spenser himself augmented with his own melodious 
 lament for the beloved and much-mourned " Astrophel." 
 
 ASHTON-UNDER-LYNK, H. KELSEY WHITE. 
 
 August 1905. 
 
 6
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 I. Sonnets and 
 Quatorzains 
 
 Heart's Transcript 
 
 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 sun-burned 
 
 brain. 
 But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's 
 
 stay; 
 Invention, Natures 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." 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, I.) 
 
 7
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 " Full Conquest " 
 
 NOT at the first sight, nor with a dribbed shot, 
 
 Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed ; 
 
 But known worth did in mine of time proceed, 
 
 Till, by degrees, it had full conquest got. 
 
 I saw, and liked ; I liked, but loved not ; 
 
 I loved, but straight did not what Love decreed : 
 
 At length, to Love's decrees, I, forced, agreed, 
 
 Yet with repining at so partial lot. 
 
 Now, even that footstep of lost liberty 
 
 Is gone, and now, like slave-born Muscovite, 
 
 I call it praise to suffer tyranny ; 
 
 And now employ the remnant of my wit 
 
 To make myself believe that all is well, 
 
 While, with a feeling skill, I paint my hell. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, II.) 
 
 No Muse but One 
 
 LET dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine, 
 That, bravely masked, their fancies may be told ; 
 Or Pindar's apes flaunt they in phrases fine, 
 Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold ; 
 Or else let them in stately glory shine, 
 Ennobling new-found tropes with problems old ; 
 Or with strange similes enrich each line, 
 Of herbs or beasts which Ind or Afric hold. 
 For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know : 
 Phrases and problems from my reach do grow ; 
 And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. 
 How then ? Even thus : In Stella's face I read 
 What Love and Beaty be ; then all my deed 
 But copying is what in her Nature writes. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, III.) 
 8
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Yet . I must Stella love 
 
 IT is most true that eyes are formed to serve 
 
 The inward light, and that the heav'nly part 
 
 Ought to be King, from whose rules who do swerve, 
 
 Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart. 
 
 It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart 
 
 An image is, which for ourselves we carve, 
 
 And, fools, adore in temple of our heart, 
 
 Till that good God make church and churchmen starve. 
 
 True, that true beauty Virtue is indeed, 
 
 Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, 
 
 Which elements with mortal mixture breed. 
 
 True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, 
 
 And should in soul up to our country move : 
 
 True and yet true, that I must Stella love. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella^ V.) 
 
 Stella's Face 
 
 QUEEN Virtue's Court, which some call Stella's face, 
 
 Prepared by Nature's choicest furniture, 
 
 Hath his front built of alabaster pure ; 
 
 Gold is the covering of that stately place. 
 
 The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace, 
 
 Red porphyry is, which lock of pearl makes sure, 
 
 Whose porches rich which name of cheeks endure 
 
 Marble, mixed red and white, do interlace. 
 
 The windows now through which this heavenly guest 
 
 Looks over the world, and can find nothing such, 
 
 Which dare claim from those lights the name of best 
 
 Of touch they are, that without touch do touch, 
 
 Which Cupid's self, from Beauty's mind did draw : 
 
 Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, IX.) 
 
 9
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Love's Childlikeness 
 
 IN truth, O Love, with what a boyish kind 
 Thou dost proceed in thy most serious ways, 
 That when the heav'n to thee his best displays, 
 Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind ! 
 For, like a child that some fair book doth find, 
 With gilded leaves or coloured vellum plays, 
 Or, at the most, on some fine picture stays, 
 But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind ; 
 So, when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet, 
 Stella, thou straight look'st babies in her eyes ; 
 In her cheeks' pit thou didst thy pitfold set, 
 And in her breast bo-peep or crouching lies, 
 Playing and shining in each outward part ; 
 But, fool, seek'st not to get into her heart. 
 
 (A strophel and Stella, XI.} 
 
 Stella Truest Nurseof Fame 
 
 You that do search for every purling spring 
 Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, 
 And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows 
 Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring ; 
 You that do dictionary's method bring 
 Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows ; 
 You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes 
 With new-born sighs and denizened wit do sing 
 You take wrong ways ; those far-set helps be such 
 As do bewray a want of inward touch, 
 And sure, at length stolen goods do come to light ; 
 But if, both for your love and skill, your name 
 You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame, 
 Stella behold, and then begin to indite. 
 
 (A strophel and Stella, XV.) 
 10
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Amor Praeceptor 
 
 ON Cupid's bow how are my heart-strings bent, 
 That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same ! 
 When most I glory, then I feel most shame ; 
 I willing run, yet while I run repent ; 
 My best wits still their own disgrace invent. 
 My very ink turns straight to Stella's name ; 
 And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, 
 Advise themselves that they are vainly spent. 
 For though she pass all things, yet what is all 
 That unto me, who fare like him that both 
 Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall ? 
 O let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, 
 And not in nature for best fruits unfit. 
 " Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward thy wit." 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XIX.) 
 
 Love's Astrology 
 
 THOUGH dusty wits dare scorn astrology ; 
 
 And fools can think those lamps of purest light 
 
 Whose number, ways, greatness, eternity, 
 
 Promising wonders, wonders do invite 
 
 To have for no cause birthright in the sky 
 
 But for to spangle the black weeds of night, 
 
 Or for some brawl which in that chamber hie 
 
 They should still dance to please a gazer's sight ; 
 
 For me, I do Nature unidle know, 
 
 And know great causes great effects procure, 
 
 And know those bodies high rain on the low. 
 
 And if these rules did fail, proof makes me sure, 
 
 Who oft fore-judge my after-following race, 
 
 By only those two stars in Stella's face. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XXVI.) 
 II
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 " Of Fellowship, O Moon" 
 
 WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies, 
 
 How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
 
 What ! may it be that even in heav'nly place 
 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ? 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case. 
 
 I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace 
 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 
 Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? 
 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? 
 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 
 
 Do they call virtue there ungratefulness ? 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XXXI.) 
 
 Stella's Enriching Name 
 
 WHAT may words say, or what may words not say, 
 Where Truth itself must speak like Flattery ? 
 Within what bounds can one his liking stay, 
 Where Nature doth with infinite agree ? 
 What Nestor's counsel can my flames allay, 
 Since Reason's self doth blow the coal in me ? 
 And, ah, what hope that Hope should once see day, 
 Where Cupid is sworn page to Chastity ? 
 Honour is honoured, that thou dost possess 
 Him as thy slave, and now long-needy Fame 
 Doth even grow rich, naming my Stella's name. 
 Wit learns in thee perfection to express ; 
 Not thou by praise, but praise by thee is raised : 
 It is a praise to praise, when thou art praised. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XXXV.) 
 
 12
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 " Rich ":ALover's" Riddle" 
 in Rhyme 
 
 MY mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell, 
 My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labour be : 
 Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me, 
 For of my life I must a riddle tell. 
 Towards Aurora's Court a nymph doth dwell, 
 Rich in all beauties which man's eyes can see ; 
 Beauties so far from reach of words, that we 
 Abase her praise saying she doth excel ; 
 Rich in the treasure of deserved renown, 
 Rich in the riches of a royal heart, 
 Rich in those gifts which give the eternal crown ; 
 Who, though most rich in these and every part 
 Which make the patents of true worldly bliss, 
 Hath no misfortune but that Rich she is. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XXXVII.) 
 
 Invocation to Sleep 
 
 COME, Sleep ! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
 The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
 The indifferent judge between the high and low ; 
 With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : 
 
 make in me those civil wars to cease ; 
 
 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, 
 A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, 
 A rosy garland and a weary head : 
 And if these things, as being thine in right, 
 Move not thy heavy grace, thou shall in me, 
 Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XXXIX.) 
 
 13
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Through Stella's Glance 
 
 HAVING this day my horse, my hand, my lance 
 Guided so well that I obtained the prize, 
 Both by the judgment of the English eyes 
 And of some sent from that sweet enemy, France ; 
 Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, 
 Townsfolk my strength ; a daintier judge applies 
 His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise ; 
 Some lucky wits impute it but to chance ; 
 Others, because of both sides I do take 
 My blood from them who did excel in this, 
 Think Nature me a man-at-arms did make. 
 How far they shot awry ! The true cause is, 
 Stella looked on, and from her heav'nly face 
 Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XL/.) 
 
 Stella's Eyes 
 
 O EYES, which do the spheres of beauty move ; 
 Whose beams be joys, whose joys all virtues be ; 
 Who, while they make Love conquer, conquer Love ; 
 The schools where Venus hath learned chastity : 
 O eyes, where humble looks most glorious prove, 
 Only-loved tyrants, just in cruelty ; 
 Do not, O do not, from poor me remove ; 
 Keep still my zenith, ever shine on me : 
 For though I never see them, but straightways 
 My life forgets to nourish languished sprites, 
 Yet still on me, O eyes, dart down your rays : 
 And if, from majesty of sacred lights, 
 Oppressing mortal sense, my death proceed, 
 Wracks triumphs be, which Love high set doth breed. 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XLII.)
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 " Those Morning Stars ' 
 
 SOUL'S joy ! bend not those morning stars from me, 
 
 Where Virtue is made strong by Beauty's might ; 
 
 Where Love is chasteness, Pain doth learn delight, 
 
 And Humbleness grows one with Majesty. 
 
 Whatever may ensue, O let me be 
 
 Co-partner of the riches of that sight ; 
 
 Let not mine eyes be blinded from that light ; 
 
 O look, O shine, O let me die, and see. 
 
 For though I oft myself of them bemoan 
 
 That through my heart their beamy darts be gone, 
 
 Whose cureless wounds even now most freshly bleed, 
 
 Yet since my death-wound is already got, 
 
 Dear killer, spare not thy sweet-cruel shot ; 
 
 A kind of grace it is to slay with speed. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XL VIII.) 
 
 The Lover " cannot choose 
 but write " 
 
 STELLA, the fulness of my thoughts of thee 
 Cannot be stayed within my panting breast, 
 But they do swell and struggle forth of me, 
 Till that in words thy figure be expressed : 
 And yet, as soon as they so formed be, 
 According to my lord Love's own behest, 
 With sad eyes I their weak proportion see 
 To portrait what which in this world is best. 
 So that I cannot choose but write my mind, 
 And cannot choose but put out what I write, 
 While these poor babes their death in birth do find ; 
 And now my pen these lines had dashed quite, 
 But that they stopped his fury from the same, 
 Because their fore-front bare sweet Stella's name. 
 (Astrophel and Stella, L.) 
 
 15
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 He sees his Shame in Stella's 
 Blush 
 
 IN martial sports I had my cunning tried, 
 
 And yet to break more staves did me address, 
 
 While, with the people's shouts, I must confess, 
 
 Youth, luck, and praise even filled my veins with pride ; 
 
 When Cupid, having me, his slave, descried 
 
 In Mars's livery prancing in the press, 
 
 "What now, Sir Fool !" said he, I would no less 
 
 " Look here, I say ! " I looked, and Stella spied, 
 
 Who, hard by, made a window send forth light. 
 
 My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes, 
 
 One hand forgot to rule, the other to fight, 
 
 Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries : 
 
 My foe came on, and beat the air for me, 
 
 Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LIII.) 
 
 Cupid's " Right Badge " worn 
 only in the Heart 
 
 BECAUSE I breathe not love to every one, 
 Nor do not use set colours for to wear, 
 Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair, 
 Nor give each speech a full point of a groan, 
 The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan 
 Of them who in their lips Love's standard bear 
 " What, he ! " say they of me : " now I dare swear 
 He cannot love ; no, no, let him alone." 
 And think so still, so Stella know my mind ! 
 Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art ; 
 But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find, 
 That his right badge is but worn in the heart ; 
 Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove ; 
 They love indeed who quake to say they love. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LIV.) 
 16
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Give Passion leave 
 
 No more, my Dear, no more these counsels try ; 
 
 give my passions leave to run their race ; 
 Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace ; 
 Let folk o'ercharged with brain against me cry ; 
 Let clouds bedim my face, break in my eye ; 
 Let me no steps but of lost labour trace ; 
 
 Let all the earth with scorn recount my case, 
 But do not will me from my love to fly. 
 
 1 do not envy Aristotle's wit, 
 
 Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame ; 
 Nor aught do care though some above me sit ; 
 Nor hope nor wish another course to frame, 
 But that which once may win thy cruel heart : 
 Thou art my Wit, and thou my Virtue art. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXIV.) 
 
 Wise Silence "Best Music 
 unto Bliss " 
 
 MY Muse may well grudge at my heav'nly joy, 
 If still I force her in sad rhymes to creep ; 
 She oft hath drunk my tears, now hopes to enjoy 
 Nectar of mirth, since I Jove's cup do keep. 
 Sonnets be not bound 'prentice to Annoy ; 
 Trebles sing high, as well as basses deep ; 
 Grief but Love's winter-livery is ; the boy 
 Hath cheeks to smile, as well as eyes to weep. 
 Come then, my Muse, shew thou height of delight 
 In well-raised notes ; my pen, the best it may, 
 Shall paint out joy, though but in black and white. 
 Cease, eager Muse ; peace, pen, for my sake stay, 
 I give you here my hand for truth of this, 
 Wise silence is best music unto bliss. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXX.} 
 P. 1 B 17
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Saucy Love 
 
 LOVE, still a boy, and oft a wanton is, 
 
 Schooled only by his mother's tender eye. 
 
 What wonder then if he his lesson miss, 
 
 When for so soft a rod dear play he try ? 
 
 And yet my Star, because a sugared kiss 
 
 In sport I sucked while she asleep did lie, 
 
 Doth lower, nay, chide, nay threat for only this ! 
 
 " Sweet, it was saucy Love, not humble I." 
 
 But no 'scuse serves ; she makes her wrath appear 
 
 In Beauty's throne : see now, who dares come near 
 
 Those scarlet judges, threat'ning bloody pain ? 
 
 O heav'nly fool, thy most kiss-worthy face 
 
 Anger invests with such a lovely grace, 
 
 That Anger's self I needs must kill again ! 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXIIL} 
 
 : Inspired with Stella's Kiss " 
 
 I NEVER drank of Aganippe's well, 
 
 Nor ever did in shade of Tempe sit, 
 
 And Muses scorn with vulgar brains to dwell ; 
 
 Poor layman I, for sacred rites unfit. 
 
 Some do I hear of poets' fury tell, 
 
 But God wot wot not what they mean by it ; 
 
 And this I swear by blackest brook of Hell, 
 
 I am no pick-purse of another's wit. 
 
 How falls it, then, that with so smooth an ease 
 
 My thoughts I speak ; and what I speak doth flow 
 
 In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please? 
 
 " Guess we the cause ? What, is it this ?" Fie, no ! 
 
 " Or so ?" Much less. " How then ? " Sure thus it is, 
 
 My lips are sweet, inspired with Stella's kiss. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXIV.) 
 18
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Corona Vera 
 
 OF all the kings that ever here did reign, 
 Edward, named fourth, as first in praise, I name : 
 Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, 
 Although less gifts imp feathers oft on fame. 
 Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame 
 His sire's revenge, joined with a kingdom's gain ; 
 And gained by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame 
 That balance weighed what sword did late obtain : 
 Nor that he made \hzfleur-de-lys so 'fraid 
 Though strongly hedged of bloody lions' paws, 
 That witty Louis to him a tribute paid : 
 Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause ; 
 But only for this worthy knight durst prove 
 To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. 
 
 (A strophel and Stella, LXXV.} 
 
 In no more but these 
 
 THOSE looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is 
 
 delight ; 
 
 That face, whose lecture shews what perfect beauty is ; 
 That presence, which doth give dark hearts a living 
 
 light ; 
 That grace, which Venus weeps that she herself doth 
 
 miss ; 
 That hand, which without touch holds more than Atlas' 
 
 might ; 
 Those lips, which make death's pay a mean price for 
 
 a kiss ; 
 That skin, whose past-praise hue scorns this poor term 
 
 of white ; 
 Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of 
 
 bliss ; 
 
 19
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 That voice, which makes the soul plant himself in the 
 
 ears ; 
 
 That conversation sweet, where such high comforts be, 
 As, construed in true speech, the name of heav"n it 
 
 bears ; 
 Make me in my best thoughts and quiet's! judgment 
 
 see 
 
 That in no more but these I might be fully blest : 
 Yet, ah, my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the best. 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXVII.} 
 
 Stella's Kiss 
 
 O KISS ! which dost those ruddy gems impart, 
 
 Or gems or fruits of new-found Paradise, 
 
 Breathing all bliss, and sweet'ning to the heart, 
 
 Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise ; 
 
 O kiss ! which souls, even souls, together ties 
 
 By links of love and only Nature's art : 
 
 How fain would I paint thee to all men's eyes 
 
 Or of thy gifts at least shade out some part ! 
 
 But she forbids ; with blushing words she says, 
 
 " She builds her fame on higher-seated praise." 
 
 But my heart burns ; I cannot silent be. 
 
 Then, since, dear life, you fain would have me peace, 
 
 And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease, 
 
 Stop you my mouth with still, still kissing me. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXXI.) 
 
 Pardon, Sweet Nymph ! 
 
 NYMPH of the garden where all beauties be, 
 Beauties which do in excellency pass 
 His who till death looked in a wat'ry glass, 
 Or hers whom nak'd the Trojan boy did see ; 
 
 20
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Sweet garden-nymph, which keep'st the cherry-tree 
 Whose fruit doth far the Hesperian taste surpass, 
 Most sweet-fair, most fair-sweet, do not, alas, 
 From coming near those cherries banish me. 
 For though, full of desire, empty of wit, 
 Admitted late by your best-graced grace, 
 I caught at one of them, and hungry bit, 
 Pardon that fault ; once more grant me the place ; 
 And I do swear, even by the same delight, 
 I will but kiss ; I never more will bite 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXXII.} 
 
 Highway! 
 
 HIGHWAY ! since you my chief Parnassus be, 
 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not un sweet, 
 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
 
 More oft than to a chamber-melody, 
 
 Now blessed you bear onward blessed me 
 
 To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet ; 
 
 My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
 
 With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully. 
 
 Be you still fair, honoured by public heed ; 
 
 By no encroachment wronged, nor time forgot ; 
 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
 
 And that you know I envy you no lot 
 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, 
 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss ! 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, LXXXJV.) 
 
 Disavowal 
 
 STELLA, think not that I by verse seek fame, 
 Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee ; 
 Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history : 
 If thou praise not, all other praise is shame. 
 21
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Nor so ambitious am I, as to frame 
 A nest for my young praise in laurel tree : 
 In truth, I swear I wish not there should be 
 Graved in my epitaph a Poet's name. 
 Nor, if I would, could I just title make, 
 That any laud thereof to me should grow, 
 Without my plumes from others' wings I take : 
 For nothing from my wit or will doth flow, 
 Since all my words thy beauty doth indite, 
 And Love doth hold my hand and makes me write. 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XC.) 
 
 Say all 
 
 BE your words made, good Sir, of Indian ware, 
 
 That you allow them me by so small rate ? 
 
 Or do you curted 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 " : 
 
 God ! think you that satisfies my care ? 
 
 1 would know whether she did sit or walk ; 
 
 How clothed ; how waited on ; sighed she, or smiled, 
 Whereof with whom, how often did she talk ; 
 With what pastimes Time's journey she beguiled ; 
 If her lips deigned to sweeten my poor name : 
 Say all ; and all well said, still say the same. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, XCIL) 
 
 Stella Sick 
 
 WHERE be those roses gone, which sweetened so 
 
 our eyes ? 
 Where those red cheeks, which oft, with fair increase, 
 
 did frame 
 
 The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame ? 
 Who hath the crimson weeds stol'n from my morning 
 
 skies ? 
 
 22
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 How doth the colour fade of those vermilion dyes, 
 Which Nature's self did make, and self-ingrained the 
 
 same ? 
 
 I would know by what right this paleness overcame 
 That hue, whose force my heart still unto thraldom 
 
 ties. 
 
 Galen's adoptive sons, who by a beaten way 
 Their judgments hackney on, the fault on sickness lay ; 
 But feeling proof makes me say they mistake it 
 
 far : 
 
 It is but love which makes this paper perfect white, 
 To write therein more fresh the story of delight, 
 Whilst Beauty's reddest ink Venus for him doth 
 
 stir. 
 
 (A strophel and Stella, CII.) 
 
 On Seeing the Winds 
 playing with Stella's Hair 
 
 HAPPY Thames, that didst my Stella bear ! 
 
 1 saw thee, with full many a smiling line 
 Upon thy cheerful face, Joy's livery wear, 
 While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. 
 The boat for joy could not to dance forbear, 
 While wanton winds, with beauties so divine 
 Ravished, stayed not, till in her golden hair 
 They did themselves O sweetest prison ! twine. 
 And fain those ^Eol's youths there would their stay 
 Have made, but, forc'd by Nature still to fly, 
 First did with puffing kiss those locks display : 
 She, so dishevelled, blushed : from window I 
 With sight thereof cried out, " O, fair disgrace, 
 Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place ! " 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella, CIII.)
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Basilius' " Love-Complaint " 
 
 LET not old age disgrace my high desire, 
 O heavenly soul, in human shape contained : 
 Old wood inflamed doth yield the bravest fire, 
 When younger doth in smoke his virtue spend ; 
 Nor let white hairs which on my face do grow 
 Seem to your eyes of a disgraceful hue, 
 Since whiteness doth present the sweetest show, 
 Which makes all eyes do homage unto you. 
 Old age is wise and full of constant truth ; 
 Old age well stayed from ranging humour lives ; 
 Old age hath known what ever was in youth ; 
 Old age o'ercome the greater honour gives ; 
 And to old age since you yourself aspire, 
 Let not old age disgrace my high desire. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. II.) 
 
 The Bargain 
 
 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. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. III. Canto's Song.) 
 
 24
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Musidorus to Pamela 
 
 LOCK up, fair lids, the treasure of my heart ; 
 
 Preserve those beams, this age's only light ; 
 
 To her sweet sense sweet sleep some ease impart 
 
 Her sense, too weak to bear her spirit's might. 
 
 And while, O sleep, thou closest up her sight, 
 
 Her sight, where Love did forge his fairest dart, 
 
 O harbour all her parts in easeful plight ; 
 
 Let no strange dream make her fair body start. 
 
 But yet, O dream, if thou wilt not depart 
 
 In this rare subject from thy common right, 
 
 But wilt thyself in such a seat delight, 
 
 Then take my shape, and play a lover's part : 
 
 Kiss her from me, and say unto her sprite, 
 
 Till her eyes shine I live in darkest night. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. III.) 
 
 Philoclea " disburdens her 
 Secret Passion" 
 
 O STEALING Time, the subject of delay 
 
 Delay, the rack of unrefrained desire 
 
 What strange design hast thou my hopes to stay, 
 
 Mine hopes which do but to mine own aspire ? 
 
 Mine own ! O word on whose sweet sound doth prey 
 
 My greedy soul with grip of inward fire, 
 
 Thy title great I justly challenge may, 
 
 Since in such phrase his faith he did attire. 
 
 O Time, become the chariot of my joys : 
 
 As thou draw'st on, so let my bliss draw near ; 
 
 Each moment lost part of my hap destroys. 
 
 Thou art the father of occasion dear ; 
 
 Join with thy son to ease my long annoys : 
 
 In speedy help thank-worthy friends appear. 
 
 (Arcadia: Bk. III.) 
 
 25
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Musidorus' Song 
 
 SINCE Nature's works be good, and death doth serve 
 
 As Nature's work, why should we fear to die ? 
 
 Since fear is vain but when it may preserve, 
 
 Why should we fear that which we cannot fly ? 
 
 Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears, 
 
 Disarming human minds of native might ; 
 
 While each conceit an ugly figure bears, 
 
 Which were not evil, well viewed in reason's light. 
 
 Our only eyes, which dimmed with passions be, 
 
 And scarce discern the dawn of coming day, 
 
 Let them be cleared, and now begin to see 
 
 Our life is but a step in dusty way : 
 
 Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind ; 
 
 Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find. 
 
 (Arcadia: Bk. V.) 
 
 A Farewell 
 
 OFT have I mused, but now at length I find, 
 
 Why those that die, men say they do " depart." 
 
 " Depart ! " A word so gentle to my mind 
 
 Weakly did seem to paint Death's ugly dart. 
 
 But now the stars, with their strange course, do bind 
 
 Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart : 
 
 I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind, 
 
 That, parting thus, my chiefest part I part. 
 
 Part of my life, the loathed part to me, 
 
 Lives to impart my weary clay some breath ; 
 
 But that good part wherein all comforts be, 
 
 Now dead, doth show departure is a death ; 
 
 Yea, worse than death ; death parts both woe and 
 
 joy: 
 
 From joy I part, still living in annoy. 
 26
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Renouncement 
 
 THOU blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare, 
 Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought : 
 Band of all evils ; cradle of causeless care ; 
 Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought : 
 Desire ! Desire ! I have too dearly bought, 
 With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware ; 
 Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought, 
 Who should my mind to higher things prepare. 
 But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought ; 
 In vain thou mad'st me to vain things aspire ; 
 In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire ; 
 For Virtue hath this better lesson taught, 
 Within myself to seek my only hire, 
 Desiring nought but how to kill Desire. 
 
 Treasure in Heaven 
 
 LEAVE me, O Love, which readiest 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 doth both 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. 
 Splendidis longum valedico nugis. 
 27
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 II. Miscellaneous Verse 
 To Stella 
 
 DOUBT you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth 
 Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only in you my song begins and endeth. 
 
 Who hath the eyes which marry State with Pleasure ? 
 Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefesl treasure ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only for you the heaven forgat all measure. 
 
 Who hath the lips where Wit in fairness reigneth ? 
 Who womankind at once both decks and staineth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth. 
 
 Who hath the feet whose step all sweetness planteth ? 
 Who else for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only to you her sceptre Venus granteth. 
 
 Who hath the breast whose milk doth patience nourish ? 
 Whose grace is such that when it chides doth cherish ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only through you the tree of life doth nourish. 
 
 Who hath the hand which without stroke subdueth ? 
 Who long-dead beauty with increase reneweth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only at you all envy hopeless rueth. 
 
 Who hath the hair which loosest fastest tieth ? 
 Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only of you the flatterer never lieth. 
 28
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Who hath the voice which soul from senses sunders ? 
 Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only with you not miracles are wonders. 
 
 Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth 
 Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth ? 
 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due : 
 Only in you my song begins and endeth. 
 
 (A strophe I and Stella : First Song.} 
 
 A Stolen Kiss 
 
 HAVE I caught my heav'nly jewel 
 Teaching Sleep most fair to be ? 
 Now will I teach her that she, 
 
 When she wakes, is too-too cruel. 
 
 Since sweet Sleep her eyes hath charmed, 
 The two only darts of Love, 
 Now will I, with that Boy, prove 
 
 Some play, while he is disarmed. 
 
 Her tongue, waking, still refuseth, 
 Giving frankly niggard " No :" 
 Now will I attempt to know 
 
 What " No" her tongue, sleeping, useth. 
 
 See the hand that, waking, guardeth, 
 Sleeping, grants a free resort : 
 Now will I invade the fort : 
 
 Cowards Love with loss rewardeth. 
 
 But, O fool, think of the danger 
 Of her just and high disdain ; 
 Now will I, alas, refrain : 
 
 Love fears nothing else but anger. 
 29
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Yet those lips, so sweetly swelling, 
 
 Do invite a stealing kiss. 
 
 Now will I but venture this ; 
 Who will read, must first learn spelling. 
 
 O, sweet kiss ! but, ah, she's waking ; 
 
 Louring beauty chastens me : 
 
 Now will I for fear hence flee ; 
 Fool, more fool, for no more taking ! 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella : Second Song.} 
 
 No, No, No ! 
 
 ONLY Joy ! now here you are, 
 Fit to hear and ease my care, 
 Let my whispering voice obtain 
 Sweet rewards 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 himself 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 knot to loose or bind ; 
 Those 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 ; 
 
 3
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 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 a-bed, 
 
 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 thus ; 
 
 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? 
 Cursed be my destinies all, 
 That brought me so high to fall ! 
 Soon with my death I will please thee : 
 No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be. 
 
 (A strop he I and Stella : Fourth Song.} 
 31
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Astrophel's Wooing 
 
 IN a grove most rich of shade, 
 
 Where birds wanton music made 
 
 May then young, his pied weeds showing, 
 
 New-perfumed with flowers fresh growing- 
 
 Astrophel with Stella sweet 
 
 Did for mutual comfort meet, 
 
 Both within themselves oppressed, 
 
 But each in the other blessed. 
 
 Him great harms had taught much care ; 
 
 Her fair neck a foul yoke bare : 
 
 But her sight his cares did banish, 
 
 In his sight her yoke did vanish. 
 
 Wept they had, alas, the while, 
 
 But now tears themselves did smile, 
 
 While their eyes, by Love directed, 
 
 Interchangeably reflected. 
 
 Sigh they did, but now betwixt 
 
 Sighs of woe were glad sighs mix'd ; 
 
 With arms crossed, yet testifying 
 
 Restless rest and living dying. 
 
 Their ears hungry of each word 
 
 Which the dear tongue would afford ; 
 
 But their tongues restrained from walking 
 
 Till their hearts had ended talking. 
 
 But when their tongues could not speak, 
 
 Love itself did silence break : 
 
 Love did set his lips asunder 
 
 Thus to speak in love and wonder : 
 
 " Stella, sovereign of my joy ! 
 
 Fair triumpher of Annoy ! 
 
 Stella, star of heavenly fire ! 
 
 Stella, loadstar of desire ! 
 
 Stella, in whose shining eyes 
 
 Are the lights of Cupid's skies, 
 
 Whose beams where they once are darted 
 
 Love therewith is straight imparted ; 
 
 Stella, whose voice when it speaks 
 
 32
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Senses all asunder breaks ; 
 
 Stella, whose voice when it singeth 
 
 Angels' to acquaintance bringeth ; 
 
 Stella, in whose body is 
 
 Writ each character of bliss, 
 
 Whose face all, all beauty passeth 
 
 Save thy mind, which yet surpasseth ; 
 
 Grant, O grant, but speech, alas, 
 
 Fails me, fearing on to pass 
 
 Grant O me, what am I saying ? 
 
 But no fault there is in praying. 
 
 Grant, O dear on knees I pray" 
 
 Knees on ground he then did stay 
 
 " That, not I, but, since I love you, 
 
 Time and place for me may move you. 
 
 Never season was more fit, 
 
 Never room more apt for it ; 
 
 Smiting air allows my reason ; 
 
 These birds sing : ' Now use the season.' 
 
 This small wind which so sweet is, 
 
 See how it the leaves doth kiss, 
 
 Each tree in his best attiring, 
 
 Sense of love to love inspiring. 
 
 Love makes earth the water drink ; 
 
 Love to earth makes water sink : 
 
 And if dumb things be so witty, 
 
 Shall a heavenly grace want pity ? " 
 
 There his hands in their speech fain 
 
 Would have made tongue's language plain, 
 
 But her hands, his hands repelling, 
 
 Gave repulse all grace excelling. 
 
 Then she spake, her speech was such 
 As not ears but heart did touch ; 
 While such-wise she love denied 
 And yet love she signified. 
 " Astrophel," said she, " my love, 
 Cease in these effects to prove ; 
 Now be still, yet still believe me 
 Thy grief more than death would grieve me. 
 If that any thought in me 
 Can taste comfort but of thee, 
 P. 1 C 33
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Let me, fed with hellish anguish, 
 
 Joyless, hopeless, endless languish. 
 
 If those eyes you praised be 
 
 Half so dear as you to me, 
 
 Let me home return stark-blinded 
 
 Of those eyes, and blinder-minded. 
 
 If to secret of my heart 
 
 I do any wish impart 
 
 Where thou art not foremost placed, 
 
 Be both wish and I defaced. 
 
 If more may be said, I say 
 
 All my bliss in thee I lay. 
 
 If thou love, my love content thee ! 
 
 For all love, all faith, is meant thee. 
 
 Trust me, while I thee deny, 
 
 In myself the smart I try ; 
 
 Tyrant Honour doth thus use thee, 
 
 Stella's self might not refuse thee. 
 
 Therefore, dear, this no more move, 
 
 Lest though I leave not thy love, 
 
 Which too deep in me is framed 
 
 I should blush when thou art named." 
 
 Therewithal away she went, 
 Leaving him so passion-rent, 
 With what she had done and spoken, 
 That therewith my song is broken. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella : Eighth Song.) 
 
 The Woeful Shepherd's 
 Plaint 
 
 Go, my flock ! go, get you hence ! 
 Seek a better place of feeding, 
 
 Where you may have some defence 
 Fro the storms in my breast breeding, 
 And showers from mine eyes proceeding. 
 
 34
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Leave a wretch in whom all woe 
 Can abide to keep no measure : 
 
 Merry flock, such one forego 
 Unto whom mirth is displeasure, 
 Only rich in mischiefs treasure. 
 
 Yet, alas, before you go, 
 
 Hear your woeful master's story, 
 
 Which to stones I else would show : 
 Sorrow only then hath glory 
 When 'tis excellently sorry. 
 
 Stella, fiercest shepherdess, 
 Fiercest but yet fairest ever ; 
 
 Stella, whom, O heavens, still bless, 
 Though against me she persever, 
 Though I bliss inherit never ; 
 
 Stella hath refused me ; 
 Stella, who more love hath proved 
 
 In this caitiff heart to be 
 Than can in good ewes be moved 
 Towards lambkins best beloved. 
 
 Stella hath refused me ! 
 Astrophel, that so well served, 
 
 In this pleasant Spring must see, 
 While in pride flowers be preserved, 
 Himself only winter-starved. 
 
 Why, alas, doth she then swear 
 That she loveth me so dearly, 
 
 Seeing me so long to bear 
 
 Coals of love that burn so clearly, 
 And yet leave me helpless merely ? 
 
 Is that Love ? Forsooth, I trow, 
 If I saw my good dog grieved, 
 
 And a help for him did know, 
 My love should not be believed 
 But he were by me relieved. 
 
 35
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 No, she hates me, welaway ! 
 Feigning love somewhat to please me ; 
 
 For she knows, if she display 
 All her hate, Death soon would seize me, 
 And of hideous torments ease me. 
 
 Then, adieu, dear flock, adieu ! 
 But, alas, if in your straying, 
 
 Heavenly Stella meet with you, 
 Tell her, in your piteous blaying, 
 Her poor slave's unjust decaying. 
 
 (A strophe I and Stella : Ninth Song.) 
 
 Love's Herald-Thought 
 
 O DEAR life, when shall it be 
 That mine eyes thine eyes may see, 
 
 And in them thy mind discover, 
 Whether absence have had force 
 Thy remembrance to divorce 
 
 From the image of thy lover ? 
 
 Or if I myself find not, 
 
 After parting, aught forgot, 
 Nor debarred from Beauty's treasure 
 Let not tongue aspire to tell 
 In what high joys I shall dwell : 
 Only Thought aims at the pleasure. 
 
 Thought, therefore, I will send thee 
 To take up the place for me ; 
 
 Long I will not after tarry. 
 There, unseen, thou may'st be bold 
 Those fair wonders to behold 
 
 Which in them my hopes do carry. 
 
 Thought, see thou no place forbear ; 
 Enter bravely everywhere ; 
 Seize on all to her belonging. 
 36
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 But if thou wouldst guarded be, 
 Fearing her beams, take with thee 
 Strength of liking, rage of longing. 
 
 Think of that most grateful time 
 When my leaping heart will climb 
 
 In my lips to have his biding, 
 There those roses for to kiss 
 Which do breathe a sugared bliss, 
 
 Opening rubies, pearls dividing. 
 
 Think of my most princely power, 
 When I, blessed, shall devour, 
 
 With my greedy, licorous senses, 
 Beauty, music, sweetness, love, 
 While she doth against me prove 
 
 Her strong darts but weak defences. 
 
 Think, think of those dallyings 
 When with dove-like murmurings, 
 
 With glad moaning, passed anguish, 
 We change eyes, and heart for heart 
 Each to other do depart, 
 
 Joying till joy make us languish. 
 
 O my Thought, thy thoughts surcease ! 
 Thy delights my woes increase : 
 
 My life melts with too much thinking. 
 Think no more, but die in me, 
 Till thou shalt revived be, 
 
 At her lips my nectar drinking. 
 
 (Astrophel and Stella : Tenth Song.) 
 
 Nocturne 
 
 WHO is it that this dark night 
 Underneath my window 'plaineth ? 
 
 // is one who from thy sight 
 Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth 
 
 Every other vulgar light. 
 
 37
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 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 much 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 tK affection groweth 
 
 In the faithful turtle-dove. 
 
 What if we new beauties see, 
 Will not they stir new affection ? 
 
 I will think they pictures be, 
 (Image-like, of saints' perfection) 
 
 Poorly counterfeiting ihee. 
 
 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 doth 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. 
 38
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Well, be gone ; be gone, I say ! 
 Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you. 
 
 O unjust is Fortunes sway, 
 Which can make me thus to leave you; 
 
 And from lowts to run away. 
 
 (AstropJiel and Stella : Eleventh Song.) 
 
 Dorus' Song to Mopsa 
 
 SINCE so mine eyes are subject to your sight 
 
 That in your sight they fixed have my brain ; 
 Since so my heart is filled with that light 
 
 That only light doth all my life maintain ; 
 Since in sweet you all goods so richly reign 
 
 That where you are no wished good can want ; 
 Since so your living image lives in me 
 That in myself your self true love doth plant ; 
 How can you him unworthy then decree 
 In whose chief part your worths implanted be? 
 (Arcadia : Bk. II.) 
 
 Gynecia's Vow 
 
 You living powers, enclosed in stately shrine 
 Of growing trees ; you rural gods that wield 
 Your sceptres here ; if to your ears divine 
 A voice may come which troubled soul doth yield, 
 This vow receive, this vow, O gods, maintain : 
 My virgin life no spotted thought shall stain ; 
 Thou purest stone, whose pureness doth present 
 My purest mind, whose temper hard doth show 
 My tempered heart, by thee rry promise sent 
 Unto myself let after-livers know. 
 No fancy mine, nor others' wrong suspect 
 Make me, O virtuous Shame, thy laws neglect. 
 39
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 O Chastity, the chief of heavenly lights, 
 Which makes us most immortal shape to wear, 
 Hold thou my heart, establish thou my sprites : 
 To only thee my constant course I bear. 
 Till spotless soul unto thy bosom fly, 
 Such life to lead, such death I vow to die. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. II.) 
 
 Epitaph 
 (on Argalus and Parthenia) 
 
 His being was in her alone ; 
 And he not being she was none : 
 They joyed one joy, one grief they grieved, 
 One love they loved, one life they lived ; 
 The hand was one, one was the sword 
 That did his death, her death afford : 
 As all the rest, so now the stone 
 That tombs the two is justly one. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. ///.) 
 
 Dametas' " Rural Poesy " 
 
 O WORDS, which fall like summer dew on me ; 
 
 O breath, more sweet than is the growing bean ; 
 
 O tongue, in which all honeyed liquors be ; 
 
 O voice, that doth the thrush in shrillness stain : 
 Do you say still this is her promise due : 
 That she is mine, as I to her am true ? 
 
 Gay hair, more gay than straw when harvest lies ; 
 
 Lips, red and plump as cherries' ruddy side ; 
 
 Eyes, fair and great like fair great ox's eyes ; 
 
 O breast, in which two white sheep swell in pride : 
 Join you with me to seal this promise due : 
 That she be mine, as I to her am true. 
 40
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 But thou, white skin, as white as curds well pressed, 
 As smooth as sleek-stone, like it, smooths each 
 
 part; 
 
 And thou, dear flesh, as soft as wool new-dressed, 
 And yet as hard as brawn made hard by art ; 
 First four but say, next four their saying seal, 
 But you must pay the gage of promised weal 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. ///.) 
 
 Madrigal 
 
 WHY dost thou haste away, 
 O Titan fair, the giver of the day ? 
 Is it to carry news 
 
 To western wights what stars in east appear ? 
 Or dost thou think that here 
 Is left a sun whose beams thy place may use ? 
 Yet stay, and well peruse 
 What be her gifts that make her equal thee ; 
 Bend all thy light to see 
 In earthly clothes enclosed a heavenly spark. 
 Thy running course cannot such beauties mark ; 
 No, no, thy motions be 
 Hastened from us with bar of shadow dark, 
 Because that thou, the author of our sight, 
 Disdain'st we see thee stained with other's light. 
 (Arcadia : Bk, ///.) 
 
 Dicus's Epithalamium 
 
 LET mother Earth now deck herself with flowers 
 To see her offspring seek a good increase, 
 Where justest love doth vanish Cupid's powers, 
 And war of thoughts is swallowed up in peace, 
 Which never may decrease, 
 
 41
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 But, like the turtles fair, 
 
 Live one in two, a well-united pair : 
 
 Which that no chance may stain, 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 O Heaven, awake ! show forth thy stately face ; 
 Let not these slumbering clouds thy beauties hide ; 
 But with thy cheerful presence help to grace 
 The honest Bridegroom and the bashful Bride, 
 
 Whose loves may ever bide, 
 
 Like to the elm and vine, 
 
 With mutual embracements them to twine : 
 
 In which delightful pain, 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 Ye Muses all, which chaste affects allow, 
 And have to Thyrsis showed your secret skill, 
 To this chaste love your sacred favours bow, 
 And so to him and her your gifts distil, 
 
 That they all vice may kill, 
 
 And, like to lilies pure, 
 
 May please all eyes, and spotless may endure 
 
 Where that all bliss may reign : 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 Ye Nymphs which in the waters empire have, 
 Since Thrysis' music oft doth yield you praise, 
 Grant to the thing which we for Thyrsis crave : 
 Let one time but long first close up their days, 
 
 One grave their bodies seize, 
 
 And like two rivers sweet, 
 
 When they, though diverse, do together meet, 
 
 One stream both streams contain : 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 Pan, father Pan, the god of silly sheep, 
 Whose care is cause that they in number grow, 
 Have much more care of them that them do keep, 
 Since from these good the others' good doth flow, 
 And make their issues show 
 
 4*
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 In number like the herd 
 
 Of younglings which thyself with love hast reared, 
 
 Or like the drops of rain : 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 Virtue if not a god, yet God's chief part 
 Be thou the knot of this their open vow, 
 That still he be her head, she be his heart ; 
 He lean to her, she unto him do bow. 
 
 Each other still allow ; 
 
 Like oak and mistletoe, 
 
 Her strength from him, hispraisefrom herdo grow: 
 
 In which most lovely train, 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 But thou, foul Cupid, sire to lawless lust, 
 Be thou far hence with thy empoisoned dart, 
 Which, though of glittering gold, shall here take rust 
 Where simple love, which chasteness doth impart. 
 
 Avoids thy hurtful art, 
 
 Not needing charming skill 
 
 Such minds with sweet affections for to fill ; 
 
 Which being pure and plain, 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 All churlish words, shrewd answers, crabbed looks, 
 All privateness, self-seeking, inward spite, 
 All waywardness which nothing kindly brooks, 
 All strife for toys and claiming master's right, 
 
 Be hence aye put to flight ! 
 
 All stirring husband's hate 
 
 'Gainst neighbours good for womanish debate, 
 
 Be fled, as things most vain ! 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 All peacock pride, and fruits of peacock's pride, 
 Longing to be with loss of substance gay, 
 With recklessness what may the house betide 
 So that you may on higher slippers stay, 
 For ever hence away ! 
 
 43
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Yet let not sluttery, 
 
 The sink of filth, be counted housewifry 
 
 But keeping whole your mean : 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 But, above all, away, vile jealousy 
 
 The evil of evils, just cause to be unjust ! 
 
 How can he love suspecting treachery ? 
 
 How can she love where love can not win trust ? 
 
 Go, snake, hide thee in dust, 
 
 Nor dare once show thy face 
 
 Where open hearts do hold so constant place, 
 
 That they thy sting restrain : 
 
 O Hymen, long their coupled joys maintain ! 
 
 The Earth is decked with flowers, the Heavens 
 
 displayed ; 
 
 Muses grant gifts, Nymphs, long and joined life, 
 Pan, store of babes, Virtue, their thoughts well stayed ; 
 Cupid's lust gone, and gone is bitter strife. 
 
 Happy man, happy wife ! 
 
 No pride shall them oppress, 
 
 Nor yet shall yield to loathsome sluttishness ; 
 
 And jealousy is slain : 
 
 For Hymen will their coupled joys maintain. 
 
 (Arcadia : Bk. III.) 
 
 Philomela 
 
 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 thought in tunes expresseth 
 
 What grief her breast oppresseth 
 
 For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 
 
 44
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 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 suff ring, 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. 
 
 Song 
 
 (To the Tune of a Neopolitan 
 Villanelle) 
 
 ALL my sense thy sweetness gained, 
 Thy fair hair my heart enchained ; 
 My poor reason thy words moved, 
 So that thee like heaven I loved. 
 Fa la la leridan dan dan dan deridan, 
 Dan dan dan deridan deridan dei : 
 While to my mind the outside stood 
 For messenger of inward good. 
 
 Now thy sweetness sour is deemed, 
 Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed ; 
 Reason hath thy words removed, 
 Finding that but words they proved. 
 
 45
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Fa la la leridan dan dan dan deridan, 
 Dan dan dan deridan deridan dei : 
 For no fair sign can credit win 
 If that the substance fail within. 
 
 No more in thy sweetness glory ; 
 For thy knitting hair be sorry ; 
 Use thy words but to bewail thee, 
 That no more thy beams avail thee. 
 Fa la la leridan dan dan dan deridan, 
 Dan dan dan deridan deridan dei : 
 Lay not thy colours more to view 
 Without the picture be found true. 
 
 Woe to me, alas, she weepeth ; 
 Fool ! in me what folly creepeth : 
 Was I to blaspheme enraged 
 Where my soul I have engaged ? 
 Fa la la leridan dan dan dan deridan, 
 
 Dan dan dan deridan deridan dei, 
 And wretched I must yield to this : 
 The fault I blame her chasteness is. 
 
 Sweetness, sweetly pardon folly ; 
 Tie me, hair, your captive wholly ; 
 Words, O words of heavenly knowledge, 
 Know my words their faults acknowledge. 
 Fa la la leridan dan dan dan deridan, 
 Dan dan dan deridan deridan dei : 
 And all my life I will confess 
 The less I love I live the less.
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 " Heart and Soul do Sing 
 
 in me " 
 (Written to the Tune of a Spanish 
 
 Song) 
 
 O FAIR ! O sweet ! when I do look on thee 
 
 In whom all joys so well agree, 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 This you hear is not my tongue 
 Which once said what I conceived, 
 For it was of use bereaved, 
 
 With a cruel answer stung. 
 No, though tongue to roof be cleaved 
 
 Fearing lest he chastised be, 
 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 O fair ! O sweet ! when I do look on thee 
 In whom all joys so well agree, 
 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 Just accord all music makes ; 
 
 In thee just accord excelleth, 
 
 Where each part in such peace dwelleth, 
 One of other beauty takes. 
 
 Since, then, truth to all minds telleth 
 That in thee lives harmony, 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 O fair ! O sweet ! when I do look on thee 
 
 In whom all joys so well agree, 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 They that heaven have known do say 
 That whoso that grace obtaineth 
 To see what fair sight there reigneth 
 
 Forced are to sing alway. 
 So, then, since that heaven remaineth 
 
 In thy face I plainly see, 
 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 47
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 O fair ! O sweet ! when I do look on thee 
 In whom all joys so well agree, 
 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 Sweet, think not I am at ease 
 
 For because my chief part singeth : 
 
 This song from death's sorrow springeth, 
 As to swan in last disease ; 
 
 For no dumbness nor death bringeth 
 Stay to true love's melody : 
 Heart and soul do sing in me. 
 
 Wooing Stuff 
 
 FAINT Amorist, what ! dost thou think 
 To taste Love's honey, and not drink 
 One dram of gall ? or to devour 
 A world of sweet and taste no sour ? 
 Dost thou ever think to enter 
 The Elysian fields that dar'st not venture 
 In Charon's barge ? A lover's mind 
 Must use to sail with every wind. 
 He that loves, and fears to try, 
 Learns his mistress to deny. 
 Doth she chide thee ? 'tis to shew it 
 That thy coldness makes her do it. 
 Is she silent ? is she mute? 
 Silence fully grants thy suit. 
 Doth she pout, and leave the room ? 
 Then she goes to bid thee come. 
 Is she sick ? Why, then be sure 
 She invites thee to the cure. 
 Doth she cross thy suit with " No " ? 
 Tush, she loves to hear thee woo. 
 Doth she call the faith of man 
 In question ? Nay, she loves thee then : 
 And if e'er she makes a blot, 
 She's lost if that thou hitt'st her not. 
 48
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 He that after ten denials 
 Dares attempt no further trials, 
 Hath no warrant to acquire 
 The dainties of his chaste desire. 
 
 Child-Song 
 
 " SLEEP, baby mine," Desire's nurse, Beauty, singeth ; 
 Thy cries, O baby, set mine head on aching." 
 The babe cries, '" Way, thy love doth keep me waking." 
 
 " Lully, lully, my babe, Hope cradle bringeth 
 Unto my children alway good rest taking." 
 The babe cries, '"Way, thy love doth keep me waking." 
 
 " Since, baby mine, from me thy watching springeth, 
 Sleep then a little, pap Content is making." 
 The babe cries, " Nay, for that abide I waking." 
 
 Song 
 
 WHO hath his fancy pleased 
 With fruits of happy sight 
 
 Let here his eyes be raised 
 On Nature's sweetest light 
 
 A light which doth dissever 
 And yet unite the eyes : 
 
 A light which dying never 
 Is cause the looker dies. 
 
 She never dies but lasteth 
 In life of lover's heart ; 
 
 He ever dies that wasteth 
 In love his chiefest part. 
 
 Thus is her life still guarded 
 In never-dying faith ; 
 
 Thus is his death rewarded; 
 Since she lives in his death. 
 P. 1 D 49
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Look, then, and die, the pleasure 
 Doth answer well the pain : 
 
 Small loss of mortal treasure 
 Who may immortal gain. 
 
 Immortal be her graces ; 
 Immortal is her mind : 
 
 They, fit for heavenly places ; 
 This, heaven in it doth bind. 
 
 But eyes these beauties see not, 
 Nor sense that grace descries, 
 
 Yet eyes deprived be not 
 From sight of her fair eyes, 
 
 Which, as of inward glory 
 They are the outward seal, 
 
 So may they live still sorry 
 Which die not in that weal. 
 
 But who hath fancies pleased 
 With fruits of happy sight 
 
 Let here his eyes be raised 
 On Nature's sweetest light. 
 
 Bane and Balm 
 
 AH, poor Love, why dost thou live 
 
 Thus to see thy service lost ? 
 If she will no comfort give, 
 
 Make an end, yield up the ghost, 
 That she may at length approve 
 
 That she hardly long believed, 
 That the heart will die for love 
 
 That is not in time relieved. 
 Ob, that ever I was born 
 
 Service so to be refused, 
 Faithful love to be foreborne ! 
 
 Never love was so abused. 
 But, sweet love, be still awhile ; 
 
 She that hurt thee, Love, may heal thee. 
 50
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Sweet, I see within her smile 
 
 More than reason can reveal thee ; 
 For though she be rich and fair, 
 
 Yet she is both wise and kind, 
 And therefore do thou not despair, 
 
 But thy faith may fancy find. 
 Yet although she be a queen, 
 
 That may such a snake despise, 
 Yet, with silence all unseen, 
 
 Run and hide thee in her eyes, 
 Where if she will let thee die 
 
 Yet, at latest gasp of breath, 
 Say that in a lady's eye 
 
 Love both took his life and death. 
 
 In Death's Despite 
 (To the tune of a Neapolitan Song) 
 
 No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe, 
 
 Although with cruel fire, 
 
 First thrown on my desire, 
 She sacks my rendered sprite. 
 
 For so fair a flame embraces 
 
 All the places 
 
 Where that heat of all heats springeth 
 That it bringeth 
 
 To my dying heart some pleasure, 
 
 Since his treasure 
 Burneth bright in fairest light. 
 
 No, no, no, no. 
 
 No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe, 
 
 Although with cruel fire, 
 
 First thrown on my desire, 
 She sacks my rendered sprite. 
 
 Since our lives be not immortal, 
 
 But to mortal 
 
 51
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 Fettters tied to wait the hour 
 Of death's power, 
 
 They have no cause to be sorry 
 
 Who with glory 
 End the way where all men stray. 
 
 No, no, no, no. 
 
 No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe, 
 
 Although with cruel fire, 
 
 First thrown on my desire, 
 She sacks my rendered sprite. 
 
 No man doubts, whom beauty killeth 
 
 Fair death feeleth, 
 And in whom fair death proceedeth 
 Glory breedeth : 
 
 So that I, in her beams dying, 
 
 Glory trying, 
 Though in pain cannot complain. 
 
 No, no, no, no. 
 
 Dirge 
 
 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 naught worth, rejected, 
 And Faith fair scorn doth gain. 
 
 From so ungrateful fancy ', 
 
 From such a female frenzy, 
 
 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 wholly ; 
 His sole executor, Blame. 
 52
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 From so ungrateful fancy ', 
 From such a female frenzy, 
 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 frenzy , 
 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 deserts she find. 
 
 Therefore, from so vile fancy, 
 To call such wit a frenzy 
 Who love can temper thus, 
 Good Lord, deliver us / 
 
 Geron to Histor 
 
 WHO for each fickle fear from virtue shrinks 
 Shall in this life embrace no worthy thing : 
 
 No mortal man the cup of surety drinks. 
 The heavens do not good haps in handfuls bring, 
 
 But let us pick our good from out much bad, 
 That still our little world may know his king. 
 
 But certainly so long we may be glad 
 While that we do what Nature doth require, 
 
 And for th' event we never ought be sad. 
 
 (Arcadia: Bk. III.) 
 
 53
 
 Mary Sidney, Countess of 
 Pembroke 
 
 The Doleful Lay of Clorinda 
 
 A Pastoral Ode to the Memory of 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 [His sister that Clorinda hight. 
 The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day, 
 And most resembling both in shape and sprite 
 Her brother dear, began this doleful lay, 
 Which, lest I mar the sweetness of the verse, 
 In sort as she it sung I will rehearse. 
 
 SPENSER : Astrophel, concluding stanza.] 
 
 AY me ! to whom shall I my case complain 
 That may compassion my impatient grief? 
 Or where shall I unfold my inward pain, 
 That my enriven heart may find relief? 
 
 Shall I unto the heavenly powers it show ? 
 
 Or unto earthly men that dwell below ? 
 
 To heavens ? Ah ! they, alas, the authors were 
 And workers of my unreme"died woe : 
 For they foresee what to us happens here, 
 And they foresaw, yet suffered this be so. 
 
 From them comes good, from them comes also 
 
 ill: 
 
 That which they made, who can them warn to 
 spill? 
 
 54
 
 Mary Sidney 
 
 To men ? Ah ! they, alas, like wretched be, 
 And subject to the heavens' ordinance : 
 Bound to abide whatever they decree, 
 Their best redress is their best sufferance. 
 
 How then can they, like wretched, comfort me, 
 The which no less need comforted to be ? 
 
 Then to myself will I my sorrow mourn 
 Since none alive like sorrowful remains, 
 And to myself my plaints shall back return 
 To pay their usury with doubled pains. 
 
 The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall resound 
 The mournful accent of my sorrow's ground. 
 
 Woods, hills, and rivers, now are desolate, 
 Since he is gone the which them all did grace : 
 And all the fields do wail their widow state, 
 Since death their fairest flower did late deface. 
 The fairest flower in field that ever grew 
 Was Astrophel ; that was, we all may rue. 
 
 What cruel hand of cursed foe unknown, 
 
 Hath cropped the stalk which bore so fair a flower ? 
 
 Untimely cropped, before it well were grown, 
 
 And clean defaced in untimely hour : 
 Great loss to all that ever him did see, 
 Great loss to all, but greatest loss to me 1 
 
 Break now your garlands, O ye shepherds' lasses, 
 Since the fair flower which them adorned is gone : 
 The flower which them adorned is gone to ashes ; 
 Never again let lass put garland on. 
 
 Instead of garland wear sad cypress now, 
 And bitter elder, broken from the bough. 
 
 Nor ever sing the love-lays which he made ; 
 Who ever made such lays of love as he ? 
 Nor ever read the riddles, which he said 
 Unto yourselves, to make you merry glee. 
 
 Your merry glee is now laid all abed ; 
 
 Your merry maker now, alas, is dead. 
 
 55
 
 Mary Sidney 
 
 Death, the devourer of all world's delight, 
 Hath robbed you, and reft from me my joy : 
 Both you and me, and all the world he quite 
 Hath robbed of joyance, and left sad annoy. 
 
 Joy of the world and shepherds' pride was he ! 
 
 Shepherds, hope never like again to see ! 
 
 O Death ! thou hast us of such riches reft, 
 Tell us at least, what hast thou with it done ? 
 What is become of him whose flower here left 
 Is but the shadow of his likeness gone ? 
 Scarce like the shadows of that which he was, 
 Nought like, but that he like a shade did pass. 
 
 But that immortal spirit, which was decked 
 With all the dowries of celestial grace, 
 By sovran choice from th' heavenly choirs select 
 And lineally derived from angels' race, 
 
 O ! what is now of it become, aread. 
 
 Ay me ! can so divine a thing be dead ? 
 
 Ah, no ! it is not dead, nor can it die, 
 But lives for aye in blissful Paradise ; 
 Where like a new-born babe it soft doth lie 
 In bed of lilies wrapped in tender wise, 
 And compassed all about with roses sweet, 
 And dainty violets from head to feet. 
 
 There thousand birds, all of celestial brood, 
 To him do sweetly carol day and night, 
 And with strange notes, of him well understood, 
 Lull him asleep in dngelic delight ; 
 Whilst in sweet dream to him presented be 
 Immortal beauties, which no eye may see. 
 
 But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure 
 Of their divine aspects, appearing plain, 
 And kindling love in him above all measure, 
 Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling pain : 
 For what so goodly form he there doth see 
 He may enjoy from jealous rancour free. 
 
 56
 
 Mary Sidney 
 
 There liveth he in everlasting bliss, 
 Sweet spirit, never fearing more to die ; 
 Nor dreading harm from any foes of his, 
 Nor fearing savage beasts' more cruelty. 
 
 Whilst we here, wretches, wail his private lack, 
 And with vain vows do often call him back. 
 
 But live thou there still happy, happy spirit, 
 And give us leave thee here thus to lament, 
 Not thee that doest thy heaven's joy inherit, 
 But our own selves that here in dole are drent. 
 Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes, 
 Mourning, in others', our own miseries. 
 
 In Praise of Astraea: 1 
 
 A Dialogue between two 
 Shepherds, Thenot and Piers. 
 
 THENOT. I sing divine Astraea's praise ; 
 
 O Muses ! help my wits to raise, 
 
 And heave my verses higher. 
 PlERS. Thou need'st the truth but plainly tell, 
 
 Which much I doubt thou canst not well, 
 Thou art so oft a liar. 
 
 THENOT. If in my song no more I show 
 
 Than Heaven, and earth, and sea do know, 
 
 Then truly I have spoken. 
 PIERS. Sufficeth not no more to name, 
 
 But being no less, the like, the same, 
 Else laws of truth be broken. 
 
 1 Astrea= Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 In the first edition of his Poetical Rhapsody (in which it 
 originally appeared) Davison appends the following note to this 
 poem : ' ' Made by the Excellent Lady, the Lady.Mary, Countess 
 of Pembroke, at the Queen Majesty's being at her house at, 
 Anno 15**." 
 
 57
 
 Mary Sidney 
 
 THENOT. Then say, she is so good, so fair, 
 
 With all the earth she may compare, 
 
 Not Momus' self denying ; 
 Compare may think where likeness holds, 
 Nought like to her the earth enfolds ; 
 
 I looked to find you lying. 
 
 THENOT. Astraea sees with Wisdom's sight ; 
 Astraea works by Virtue's might ; 
 And jointly both do stay in her. 
 PlERS. Nay, take from them her hand, her mind,- 
 The one is lame, the other blind : 
 Shall still your lying stain her ? 
 
 THENOT. Soon as Astraea shows her face, 
 
 Straight every ill avoids the place, 
 
 And every good aboundeth. 
 PIERS. Nay, long before her face doth show, 
 The last doth come, the first doth go : 
 How loud this lie resoundeth ! 
 
 THENOT. Astraea is our chiefest joy, 
 
 Our chiefest guard against annoy, 
 
 Our chiefest wealth, our treasure. 
 PlERS. Where chiefest are, there others be, 
 To us none else, but only she : 
 
 When wilt thou speak in measure ? 
 
 THENOT. Astrasa may be justly said 
 
 A field in flowery robe arrayed, 
 
 In season freshly springing. 
 PlERS. That Spring endures but shortest time, 
 This never leaves Astraea's clime : 
 Thou liest, instead of singing. 
 
 THENOT. As heavenly light that guides the day, 
 Right so doth shine each lovely ray 
 
 That from Astraea flieth. 
 
 PIERS. Nay, darkness oft that light enclouds ; 
 Astraea's beams no darkness shrouds : 
 How loudly Thenot lieth ! 
 
 58
 
 Mary Sidney 
 
 THENOT. Astraea rightly term I may 
 
 A manly palm, a maiden bay, 
 
 Her verdure never dying. 
 PIERS. Palm oft is crooked, bay is low ; 
 
 She still upright, still high doth grow : 
 Good Thenot, leave thy lying. 
 
 THENOT. Then, Piers, of friendship tell me why, 
 My meaning true, my words should lie, 
 
 And strive in vain to raise her ? 
 PIERS. Words from conceit do only rise ; 
 Above conceit her honour flies : 
 
 But, silence ! nought can praise her. 
 
 59
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 An Elegy ; 
 or, 
 
 Friend's Passion for his 
 Astrophel 
 
 Written upon the death of the Right Honourable 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, Knight, 
 
 Lord Governor of Flushing 
 
 As then, no wind at all there blew, 
 
 No swelling clouds accloyed the air ; 
 
 The sky, like glass of watchet hue, 
 
 Reflected Phoebus' golden hair ; 
 
 The garnished tree no pendent stirred, 
 No voice was heard of any bird. 
 
 There might you see the burly bear, 
 
 The lion king, the elephant, 
 
 The maiden unicorn was there, 
 
 So was Actaeon's horned plant, 
 And what of wild or tame are found 
 Were couched in order on the ground. 
 60
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 Alcides' speckled poplar tree, 
 The palm that monarchs do obtain, 
 With love-juice stained the mulberry, 
 The fruit that 'dews the poet's brain ; 
 And Phyllis' filbert there away 
 Compared with myrtle and the bay. 
 
 The tree that coffins doth adorn, 
 With stately height threat'ning the sky, 
 And, for the bed of love forlorn, 
 The black and doleful ebony : 
 
 All in a circle compassed were 
 
 Like to an amphitheatre. 
 
 Upon the branches of those trees 
 
 The aery-winged people sat, 
 
 Distinguished in odd degrees ; 
 
 One sort is this, another that : 
 
 Here Philomel, that knows full well 
 What force in wit and love doth dwell. 
 
 The sky-bred eagle, royal bird, 
 
 Perched there upon an oak above ; 
 
 The turtle by him never stirred, 
 
 Example of immortal love. 
 
 The swan that sings about to die, 
 Leaving Meander, stood thereby. 
 
 And that which was of wonder most 
 
 The Phoenix left sweet Araby ; 
 
 And, on a cedar in this coast, 
 
 Built up her tomb of spicery, 
 As I conjecture, by the same 
 Prepared to take her dying flame. 
 
 In midst and centre of this plot, 
 I saw one grovelling on the grass ; 
 A man or stone, I knew not that : 
 No stone ; of man the figure was ; 
 And yet I could not count him one 
 More than the image made of stone. 
 61
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 At length I might perceive him rear 
 His body on his elbow end : 
 Earthly and pale, with ghastly cheer, 
 Upon his knees he upward tend, 
 Seeming like one in uncouth stound, 
 To be ascending out the ground. 
 
 A grievous sigh forthwith he throws 
 As might have torn the vital strings ; 
 Then down his cheeks the tear so flows 
 As doth the stream of many springs : 
 So thunder rends the cloud in twain, 
 And makes a passage for the rain. 
 
 Incontinent, with trembling sound, 
 He woefully 'gan to complain : 
 Such were the accents as might wound, 
 And tear a diamond rock in twain. 
 After his throbs did somewhat stay, 
 Thus heavily he 'gan to say : 
 
 O sun ! (said he, seeing the sun), 
 
 On wretched me why dost thou shine ? 
 
 My star is fall'n, my comfort done, 
 
 Out is the apple of my eyne : 
 
 Shine upon those possess delight, 
 And let me live in endless night. 
 
 grief, that liest upon my soul 
 As heavy as a mount of lead, 
 The remnant of my life control, 
 Consort me quickly with the dead ; 
 
 Half of this heart, this sprite, and will, 
 Died in the breast of Astrophil. 
 
 And you, compassionate of my woe, 
 Gentle birds, beasts, and shady trees, 
 
 1 am assured ye long to know 
 What be the sorrow me aggrieves ; 
 
 Listen ye then to that ensu'th, 
 And hear a tale of tears and ruth. 
 62
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 You knew, who knew not Astrophil 
 (That I should live to say I knew, 
 And have not in possession still I) 
 Things known permit me to renew ; 
 Of him you know his merit such, 
 I cannot say, you hear, too much. 
 
 Within these woods of Arcady 
 He chief delight and pleasure took, 
 And on the mountain Partheny, 
 Upon the crystal liquid brook, 
 The Muses met him every day 
 That taught him sing, to write, and say. 
 
 When he descended down to the mount, 
 
 His personage seemed most divine ; 
 
 A thousand graces one might count 
 
 Upon his lovely cheerful eyne : 
 To hear him speak and sweetly smile, 
 You were in Paradise the while. 
 
 A sweet attractive kind of grace, 
 A full assurance given by looks, 
 Continual comfort in a face, 
 The lineaments of Gospel books ; 
 I trow that countenance cannot lie 
 Whose thoughts are legible in the eye. 
 
 Was never eye did see that face, 
 Was never ear did hear that tongue, 
 Was never mind did mind his grace, 
 That ever thought the travel long ; 
 But eyes, and ears, and ev'ry thought, 
 Were with his sweet perfections caught. 
 
 O God, that such a worthy man, 
 In who so rare deserts did reign, 
 Desired thus, must leave us then, 
 And we to wish for him in vain ! 
 
 O, could the stars that bred that wit 
 
 In force no longer fixed sit ? 
 
 63
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 Then being filled with learned dew, 
 The Muses willed him to love ; 
 That instrument can aptly shew 
 How finely our conceits will move : 
 As Bacchus opes dissembled hearts, 
 So Love sets out our better parts. 
 
 Stella, a Nymph within this wood, 
 Most rare and rich of heavenly bliss, 
 The highest in his fancy stood, 
 And she could well demerit this : 
 
 'Tis likely they acquainted soon ; 
 
 He was a Sun, and she a Moon. 
 
 Our Astrophil did Stella have ; 
 O Stella, vaunt of Astrophil, 
 Albeit thy graces gods may move, 
 Where wilt thou find an Astrophil ? 
 The rose and lily have their prime, 
 And so hath beauty but a time. 
 
 Although thy beauty do exceed 
 In common sight of every eye, 
 Yet, in his Poesies when we read, 
 It is apparent more thereby, 
 He that hath love and judgment too 
 Sees more than any other do. 
 
 Then Astrophil hath honoured thee ; 
 
 For when thy body is extinct, 
 
 Thy graces shall eternal be 
 
 And live by virtue of his ink ; 
 For by his verses he doth give 
 To short-lived beauty aye to live. 
 
 Above all others this is he, 
 Which erst approved in his song 
 That love and honour might agree, 
 And that pure love will do no wrong. 
 Sweet saints ! it is no sin nor blame, 
 To love a man of virtuous name. 
 64
 
 Matthew Roy don 
 
 Did never love so sweetly breathe 
 
 In any mortal breast before ; 
 
 Did never Muse inspire beneath 
 
 A Poet's brain with finer store : 
 He wrote of love with high conceit, 
 And beauty reared above her height. 
 
 Then Pallas afterward attired 
 Our Astrophil with her device, 
 Whom in his armour heaven admired, 
 As of the nation of the skies ; 
 
 He sparkled in his arms' affairs, 
 
 As he were dight with fiery stars. 
 
 The blaze whereof when Mars beheld, 
 (An envious eye doth see afar,) 
 Such majesty (quoth he) is sealed, 
 Such majesty my mart may mar ; 
 
 Perhaps this may a suitor be, 
 
 To set Mars by his deity. 
 
 In this surmise he made with speed 
 An iron cane, wherein he put 
 The thunder that in clouds do breed ; 
 The flame and bolt together shut 
 
 With privy force burst out again, 
 
 And so our Astrophil was slain. 
 
 This word (" was slain ") straightway did move, 
 
 And Nature's inward life-strings twitch ; 
 
 The sky immediately above 
 
 Was dimmed with hideous clouds of pitch 
 The wrestling winds from out the ground 
 Filled all the air with rattling sound. 
 
 The bending trees expressed a groan, 
 
 And sighed the sorrow of his fall ; 
 
 The forest beasts made ruthful moan, 
 
 The birds did tune their mourning call, 
 And Philomel for Astrophil 
 Unto her notes annexed a " phil." 
 
 P. 1 E 65
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 The turtle dove with tones of ruth 
 
 Shewed feeling passion of his death ; 
 
 Methought she said, I tell thee truth, 
 
 Was never he that drew in breath 
 Unto his love more trusty found 
 Than he for whom our griefs abound. 
 
 The swan, that was in presence here, 
 
 Began his funeral dirge to sing : 
 
 Good things (quoth he) may scarce appear 
 
 But pass away with greedy wing : 
 This mortal life as death is tried, 
 And death gives life ; and so he died. 
 
 The general sorrow that was made 
 
 Among the creatures of each kind 
 
 Fired the Phoenix where she laid, 
 
 Her ashes flying with the wind, 
 So as I might with reason see, 
 That such a Phcenix ne'er should be. 
 
 Haply the cinders, driven about, 
 May breed an offspring near that kind, 
 But hardly a peer to that, I doubt ; 
 It cannot sink into my mind 
 
 That under-branches e'er can be 
 
 Of worth and value as the tree. 
 
 The eagle marked with piercing sight 
 The mournful habit of the place, 
 And parted thence with mounting flight 
 To signify to Jove the case, 
 
 What sorrow Nature doth sustain 
 
 For Astrophil by envy slain. 
 
 And while I followed with mine eye 
 The flight the eagle upward took, 
 All things did vanish by and by, 
 And disappeared from my look : 
 
 The trees, beasts, birds, and grove was gone ; 
 
 So was the friend that made this moan. 
 66
 
 Matthew Roydon 
 
 This spectacle had firmly wrought 
 A deep compassion in my sprite ; 
 My moulting heart issued, methought, 
 In streams forth at mine eyes aright : 
 And here my pen is forced to shrink 
 My tears discolour so mine ink. 
 
 67
 
 Glossary 
 
 Accloyed, choked, filled. 
 
 Aread, tell, declare, explain. 
 
 Baiting-place, refreshing-place. 
 
 Slaying, bleating. 
 
 Curted, laconic. 
 
 Drent, drowned. 
 
 Dribbed, weak (a term in Archery). 
 
 Imp, join, add to, heap on. 
 
 Licorous, dainty, eager to taste or enjoy, having a keen 
 relish. (Variant of lecherous?) 
 
 Lowts, obeisances. 
 
 Pied, parti-coloured. 
 
 Prease, press. 
 
 Sleek-stone, A smoothing-stone for smoothing or dress- 
 ing linen, butter, etc. 
 
 Stound, amazement (stunned). 
 
 Touch, (a) a kind of marble ; () tinder. 
 
 Trentals, Requiem masses. 
 
 IVatchet, pale blue. 
 
 Welaway ( = woe ! lo ! woe ! ) An exclamation of 
 sorrow or despair = alas ! 
 
 Witty, wise. 
 
 Wroken, wrought. 
 
 Turnbull &> Spears, Printers, Edinburgh.
 
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