Sir Philip Sidney
Sonnets from Astrophil and Stella
Sonnet 2 | ||
Not at 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. | ||
5 | I saw, and liked; I liked, but loved not; | |
I loved, but straight did not what love decreed: | ||
At length to loves decrees I, forcd, agreed, | ||
Yet with repining at so partial lot. | ||
Now even that footstep of lost liberty | ||
10 | 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. | ||
Sonnet 5 | ||
It is most true, that eyes are formed to serve | ||
The inward light: and that the heavenly part | ||
Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, | ||
Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart. | ||
5 | It is most true, what we call Cupids 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, | ||
10 | 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. | ||
Sonnet 30 | ||
Whether the Turkish new-moon minded be | ||
To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; | ||
How Poles right king means, without leave of host, | ||
To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy; | ||
5 | If French can yet three parts in one agree; | |
What now the Dutch in their full diets boast; | ||
How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost, | ||
Trust in the pleasing shade of Orange tree; | ||
How Ulster likes of that same golden bit | ||
10 | Wherewith my father once made it half tame; | |
If in the Scottish court be weltring yet; | ||
These questions busy wits to me do frame. | ||
I, cumbered with good manners, answer do, | ||
But know not how, for still I think of you. | ||
Sonnet 35 | ||
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? | ||
5 | What Nestors counsel can my flames allay, | |
Since Reasons 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 | ||
10 | Him as thy slave, and now long needy Fame | |
Doth even grow rich, naming my Stellas name. | ||
Wit learns in thee perfection to express, | ||
Not thou by praise, but praise in thee is raisd; | ||
It is a praise to praise, when thou art praisd. | ||
Sonnet 37 | ||
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 a riddle I must tell. | ||
5 | Towards Auroras court a nymph doth dwell, | |
Rich in all beauties which mans eye can see: | ||
Beauties so far from reach of words, that we | ||
Abase her praise, saying she doth excel: | ||
Rich in the treasure of deservd renown, | ||
10 | Rich in the riches of a royal heart, | |
Rich in those gifts that give th 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. | ||
Sonnet 45 | ||
Stella oft sees the very face of woe | ||
Painted in my beclouded stormy face; | ||
But cannot skill to pity my disgrace, | ||
Not though thereof the cause herself she know: | ||
5 | Yet hearing late a fable, which did show | |
Of lovers never known a grievous case, | ||
Pity thereof gat in her breast such place | ||
That from that sea derived tears spring did flow. | ||
Alas, if Fancy drawn by imagd things, | ||
10 | Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breed | |
Than servants wrack, where new doubts honour brings; | ||
Then think my dear that you in me do read | ||
Of lovers ruin some sad tragedy: | ||
I am not I, pity the tale of me. | ||
Sonnet 53 | ||
In martial sports I had my cunning tried, | ||
And yet to break more staves did me address, | ||
While with the peoples shouts I must confess, | ||
Youth, luck and praise even filled my veins with pride. | ||
5 | When Cupid, having me, his slave, descried | |
In Marss 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, | ||
10 | My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes, | |
One hand forgot to rule, thother to fight; | ||
Nor trumpets 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. | ||
Sonnet 71 | ||
Who will in fairest book of Nature know | ||
How Virtue may best lodgd in beauty be, | ||
Let him but learn of Love to read in thee, | ||
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show. | ||
5 | There shall he find all vices overthrow, | |
Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty | ||
Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly, | ||
That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so. | ||
And not content to be perfections heir | ||
10 | Thy self, dost strive all minds that way to move, | |
Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair; | ||
So while thy beauty draws the heart to love, | ||
As fast thy virtue bends that love to good. | ||
But ah, desire still cries: give me some food. | ||
Sonnet 72 | ||
Desire, though thou my old companion art, | ||
And oft so clings to my pure love, that I | ||
One from the other scarcely can descry, | ||
While each doth blow the fire of my heart; | ||
5 | Now from thy fellowship I needs must part; | |
Venus is taught with Dians wings to fly; | ||
I must no more in thy sweet passions lie; | ||
Virtues gold now must head my Cupids dart. | ||
Service and honour, wonder with delight, | ||
10 | Fear to offend, will worthy to appear, | |
Care shining in mine eyes, faith in my sprite; | ||
These things are left me by my only dear; | ||
But thou Desire because thou wouldst have all, | ||
Now banished art, but yet alas how shall? | ||
Sonnet 82 | ||
Nymph of the gardn where all beauties be: | ||
Beauties which do in excellency pass | ||
His who till death looked in a watery glass, | ||
Or hers whom naked the Trojan boy did see. | ||
5 | Sweet gardn nymph, which keeps the cherry tree, | |
Whose fruit doth far thEsperian 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, | ||
10 | Admitted late by your best-graced grace, | |
I caught at one of them a 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. | ||
Sonnet 90 | ||
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. | ||
5 | 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 mine epitaph a poets name: | ||
Ne if I would, could I just title make, | ||
10 | That any laud to me thereof 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 endite, | ||
And love doth hold my hand, and makes me write. | ||
Sonnet 106 | ||
O absent presence, Stella is not here; | ||
False flattering hope, that with so fair a face | ||
Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place | ||
Stella, I say my Stella, should appear. | ||
5 | What sayst thou now, where is that dainty cheer | |
Thou toldst mine eyes should help their famished case? | ||
But thou art gone, now that self felt disgrace | ||
Doth make me most to wish thy comfort near. | ||
But here I do store of fair ladies meet, | ||
10 | Who may with charm of conversation sweet | |
Make in my heavy mould new thoughts to grow: | ||
Sure they prevail as much with me as he | ||
That bade his friend, but then new maimed, to be | ||
Merry with him, and not think of his woe. | ||
Sonnet 108 | ||
When sorrow, using mine own fires might, | ||
Melts down his lead into my boiling breast, | ||
Through that dark furnace to my heart opprest | ||
There shines a joy from thee my only light; | ||
5 | But soon as thought of thee breeds my delight, | |
And my young soul flutters to thee his nest, | ||
Most rude despair my daily unbidden guest, | ||
Clips straight my wings, straight wraps me in his night, | ||
And makes me then bow down my head, and say: | ||
10 | Ah, what doth Phoebus gold that wretch avail, | |
Whom iron doors do keep from use of day? | ||
So strangely, alas, thy works in me prevail, | ||
That in my woes for thee thou art my joy, | ||
And in my joys for thee my only annoy. | ||
Robert Clark