P.

LXII.

ATE TIRED with woe, even ready for to pine
With rage of love, I called my love " unkind!"

She in whose eyes love, though unfelt, doth shine
Sweetly said, "That I, true love in her should find."
I joyed; but straight thus watered was my wine.
"That love she did, but loved a love not blind;
Which would not let me, whom she loved, decline
From nobler course, fit for my birth and mind:
And therefore by her love's authority,
Willed me, these tempests of vain love to fly;
And anchor fast myself on Virtue's shore."
Alas, if this the only metal be

Of love new coined to help my beggary:
Dear! love me not, that ye may love me more!

LXIII.

GRAMMAR rules! O now your virtues show!
So children still read you with awful eyes;

As my young Dove may in your precepts wise

Her grant to me, by her own virtue know.

For late, with heart most high, with eyes most low;

I craved the thing which ever she denies :

She lightning love, displaying VENUS' skies,

Lest once should not be heard; said twice "No!" "No!" Sing then my Muse! now Io Paan sing!

Heavens! envy not at my high triumphing;

But Grammar's force with sweet success confirm !

For Grammar says (O this dear STELLA'S "Nay!") For Grammar says (to Grammar, who says "Nay"?) "That in one speech, two negatives affirm."

P. Sidney

1581-1584

[In the Arcadia impression of 1598, the FIRST SONG at page 558

comes in here.]
LXIV.

O MORE! my Dear! no more these counsels try!
O give my passions leave to run their race!

N

Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace!
Let folk o'ercharged with brain, against me cry!
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye!
Let me no steps but of lost labour trace!
Let all the earth in scorn recount my case;
But do not will me from my love to fly!
I do not envy ARISTOTLE's wit;
Nor do aspire to CÆSAR'S bleeding fame;
Nor ought 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.

LXV.

OVE! BY sure proof I may call thee unkind;
That giv'st no better ear to my just cries!

Thou, whom to me, such my good turns should bind,

As I may well recount, but none can prize.

For when, naked boy! thou couldst no harbour find In this old world, grown now so too too wise;

I lodged thee in my heart: and being blind

By nature born, I gave to thee mine eyes.

Mine eyes! my light! my heart! my life! Alas!
If so great services may scornèd be:

Yet let this thought, thy tigerish courage pass.

That I, perhaps, am somewhat kin to thee;

Since in thine arms, if learned Fame truth hath spread,
Thou bar'st the arrow; I, the arrow head.

LXVI.

ND DO I see some cause a hope to feed? Or doth the tedious burden of long woe In weakened minds, quick apprehending breed Of every image, which may comfort show?

I cannot brag of word, much less of deed; Fortune's wheel's still with me in one sort slow; My wealth no more, and no whit less my need: Desire still on the stilts of fear doth go.

And yet amid all fears, a hope there is

Stolen to my heart, since last fair night (nay, day!) STELLA's eyes sent to me the beams of bliss;

Looking on me, while I lookt other way:

But when mine eyes back to their heaven did move; They fled with blush, which guilty seemed of love.

LXVII.

OPE! ART thou true, or dost thou flatter me?
Doth STELLA now begin with piteous eye,
The ruins of her conquest to espy?

Will she take time, before all wracked be?

Her eye's speech is translated thus by thee:
But fail'st thou not in phrase so heavenly high?
Look on again! the fair text better try!
What blushing notes dost thou in margin see?

What sighs stolen out, or killed before full born? Hast thou found such, and such like arguments? Or art thou else to comfort me foresworn?

Well! how so thou interpret their contents:
I am resolved thy error to maintain ;
Rather than by more truth to get more pain.

P.

LXVIII.

TELLA! THE only planet of my light!

Light of my life! and life of my desire!

Chief good! whereto my hope doth only aspire : World of my wealth! and heaven of my delight! Why dost thou spend the treasures of thy sprite, With voice more fit to wed AMPHION's lyre; Seeking to quench in me the noble fire,

Fed by thy worth, and blinded by thy sight?

And all in vain, for while thy breath so sweet,
With choicest words; thy words, with reasons rare ;
Thy reasons firmly set on Virtue's feet;

Labour to kill in me this killing care:
O think I then, what paradise of joy
It is, so fair a virtue to enjoy?

LXIX.

Joy! Too high for my low style to show.

O bliss! fit for a nobler seat than me.

ENVY! put out thine eyes! lest thou do see

What oceans of delight in me do flow.

My friend that oft saw, through all masks, my woe. Come! come! and let me pour myself on thee!

Gone is the winter of my misery!

My spring appears! O see what here doth grow!

For STELLA hath with words (where faith doth shine), Of her high heart given me the monarchy:

I! IO I may say that she is mine.

And though she give but thus conditionally
This realm of bliss, "while virtuous course I take:"
No kings be crowned, but they some covenant make.

M

LXX.

P.

Y MUSE may well grudge at my heavenly joy,
If still I force her in sad rhymes to creep;

She oft hath drunk my tears, now hopes t'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! show 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."

LXXI.

HO WILL in fairest book of Nature know
How virtue may best lodged in beauty be;

Let him but learn of love to read in thee !
STELLA! those fair lines which true goodness show.
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 perfection's heir,

Thyself 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 !"