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The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney

In Three Volumes
Sidney, Philip (1554-1586)

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Volume I, [Volume II]
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THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA
  
[dedication]
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[THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.]
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THE SECOND BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
  
[In vaine, mine Eyes, you labour to amende]
  
[Let not old age disgrace my high desire]
  
[Since so mine eyes are subject to your sight]
  
[My sheepe are thoughts, which I both guide and serve]
  
[You living powres enclosed in stately shrine]
  
[My words, in hope to blaze my stedfast minde]
  
[What toong can her perfections tell]
  
[Alas how long this pilgrimage doth last?]
  
[Poore Painters oft with silly Poets joyne]
  
[Loved I am, and yet complaine of Love]
  
[Over these brookes trusting to ease mine eyes]
  
[Me thought some staves he mist: if so, not much amisse]
  
[Wyth two strange fires of equall heate possest]
  
[A hatefull cure with hate to heale]
  
[Thy elder care shall from thy carefull face]
  
[Apollo great, whose beames the greater world do light]
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The second Eclogues.
  
[Thou Rebell vile, come, to thy master yelde]
  
[Dorus, tell me, where is thy wonted motion]
  
[And are you there old Pas? in troth I ever thought]
  
[I joye in griefe, and doo detest all joyes]
  
[Faire rocks, goodly rivers, sweet woods, when shall I see peace?]
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[THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.]
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THE FOURTH BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
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THE FIFTH BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
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POEMS FIRST PRINTED IN THE FOLIO OF 1593.
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POEMS FROM THE OLD ARCADIA
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Syr P. S. His Astrophel and Stella.
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OTHER SONNETS OF VARIABLE VERSE.
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CERTAINE SONETS WRITTEN BY SIR PHILIP SIDNEY: Never before printed.
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TWO PASTORELS, MADE BY SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY.
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[THE LADY OF MAY]
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Volume III
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Volume IV

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[We love, and have our loves rewarded.]

[The Shepheards.]
We love, and have our loves rewarded.
We love, and are no whit regarded.
We finde most sweete affections snare,
That sweete, but sower despairefull care.
Who can despaire, whom hope doth beare?
And who can hope, that feeles despaire?

127

As without breath, no pipe doth move,
No musike kindly without love.
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