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P.

1581-1584

XXII.

N HIGHEST way of heaven, the sun did ride,
Progressing then from fair Twins' golden place;
Having no scarf of clouds before his face,
But shining forth of heat in his chief pride:
When some fair ladies, by hard promise tied,
On horseback met him in his furious race;
Yet each prepared with fan's well-shading grace,
From that foe's wounds, their tender skins to hide.
STELLA alone, with face unarmèd, marched;

Either to do like him which open shone,.

Or careless of the wealth because her own:

Yet were the hid and meaner beauties parched; Her daintiest bare, went free. The cause was this. The sun which others burnt, did her but kiss.

XXIII.

HE CURIOUS Wits, seeing dull pensiveness
Bewray itself in my long settled eyes:

Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
With idle pains and missing aim, do guess.

Some that know how my Spring I did address,
Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies:
Others, because the Prince my service tries,
Think that I think State errors to redress.

But harder judges judge ambition's rage-
Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place-
Holds my young brain captived in golden cage.
O fools! or overwise! alas, the race

Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start,
But only STELLA's eyes and STELLA's heart.

P.

XXIV.

R

ICH FOOLS there be, whose base and filthy heart
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow:

And damning their own selves to TANTAL's smart,
Wealth breeding want; more blest, more wretched grow.
Yet to those fools, heaven such wit doth impart,
As what their hands do hold, their heads do know;
And knowing, love and loving lay apart,

As sacred things, far from all danger's show:
But that rich fool, who by blind Fortune's lot,
The richest gem of love and life enjoys;

And can with foul abuse, such beauties blot:

Let him deprived of sweet but unfelt joys,
(Exiled for aye from those high treasures, which
He knows not) grow in only folly rich!

T

XXV.

HE WISEST Scholar of the wight most wise,

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By PHŒBUS' doom, with sugared sentence says:
That virtue, if it once met with our eyes,
Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise :
But for that man, with pain this truth descries,
Whiles he each thing in sense's balance weighs :
And so nor will, nor can behold those skies,
Which inward sun to heroic minds displays."

Virtue, of late, with virtuous care to stir
Love of herself, takes STELLA's shape; that she
To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her.

It is most true. For since I her did see,
Virtue's great beauty in that face I prove,
And find th'effect: for I do burn in love.

XXVI.

HOUGH DUSTY wits dare scorn astrology;
And fools can think those lamps of purest light-
Whose number, ways, greatness, eternity,
Promising wonders; wonder 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 high,
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 reign 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.

B

XXVII.

ECAUSE I OFT in dark abstracted guise,
Seem most alone in greatest company;

With dearth of words, or answers quite awry,

To them that would make speech of speech arise.
They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies,
That poison foul of bubbling pride doth lie
So in my swelling breast; that only I
Fawn on me self, and others do despise.

Yet pride, I think, doth not my soul possess,
Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass:
But one worse fault, ambition, I confess,

That makes me oft my best friends overpass
Unseen, unheard; while thought to highest place
Bends all his powers, even to STELLA's grace.

P. Sidney.

1581-1584

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|OU THAT with allegory's curious frame,

Of others' children, changelings use to make :

With me, those pains for GOD's sake do not take.

I list not dig so deep for brazen fame.

When I say STELLA! I do mean the same
Princess of Beauty; for whose only sake
The reins of love I love, though never slack:
And joy therein, though nations count it shame.
I beg no subject to use eloquence,
Nor in hid ways do guide philosophy:
Look at my hands for no such quintessence!

But know! that I, in pure simplicity,

Breathe out the flames which burn within my heart,
Love only reading unto me this art.

XXIX.

IKE SOME weak lords-neighboured by mighty kings-
To keep themselves and their chief cities free;

Do easily yield that all their coasts may be

Ready to store their camp of needful things:

So STELLA'S heart, finding what power Love brings, To keep itself in life and liberty;

Doth willing grant that in the frontiers he

Use all to help his other conquerings:

And thus her heart escapes, but thus her eyes
Serve him with shot; her lips, his heralds are;
Her breasts, his tents; legs, his triumphal car;
Her flesh, his food; her skin, his armour brave.
And I, but for because my prospect lies
Upon that coast, am given up for slave.

W

XXX.

HETHER the Turkish new moon minded be

P.

To fill his horns this year on Christian coast?

How Foles' right King means, without leave of host,
To warm with ill-made fire, cold Muscovy?

If French can yet three parts in one agree?
What now the Dutch in their full diets boast?
How Holland's hearts-now so good towns be lost-
Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree?

How Ulster likes of that same golden bit,
Wherewith my father once made it half tame?
If in the Scotch Court be no welt'ring yet?

These questions, busy wits to me do frame:
I-cumbered with good manners--answer do;
But know not how, for still I think on you.

XXXI.

ITH HOW sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies!
How silently! and with how wan a face!

W

What! may it be that even in heavenly 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 languisht grace
To me that feel the like, thy state descries.

Then even 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?

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