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The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney

In Three Volumes
Sidney, Philip (1554-1586)

collapse sectionI, II. 
Volume I, [Volume II]
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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.
  
[Since shunning paine, I ease can never find]
  
[When Love puft up with rage of hy disdaine]
  
[The fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth]
  
[The Nightingale as soone as Aprill bringeth]
  
[Sleepe Babie mine, Desire nurse Beautie singeth]
  
[O faire, ô sweet, when I do looke on thee]
  
[The scourge of life, and deaths extreame disgrace]
  
[You better sure shall live, not evermore]
  
[Unto no body my woman saith she had rather a wife be]
  
[Faire seeke not to be feard, most lovely beloved by thy servants]
  
[Like as the Dove which seeled up doth flie]
  
E. D.
  
[My mistresse lowers and saith I do not love]
  
[In wonted walkes, since wonted fancies change]
  
[If I could thinke how these my thoughts to leave]
  
A Farewell.
  
[Finding those beames, which I must ever love]
  
The 7. Wonders of England.
  
[Who hath his fancie pleased]
  
The smokes of Melancholy.
  
[When to my deadlie pleasure]
  
[No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe]
  
[Al my sense thy sweetnesse gained]
  
[What changes here, ô haire]
  
[Of this high grace with blisse conjoyn'd]
  
[Ring out your belles, let mourning shewes be spread]
  
[Thou blind mans marke, thou fooles selfe chosen snare]
  
[Leave me ô Love, which reachest but to dust]
  
A DIALOGUE BETWEENE TWO SHEPHERDS, utterd in a pastorall shew, at Wilton.
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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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[The fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth]

[_]

To the tune of Non credo gia che piu infelice amante.

The fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth:
The aire in raine for my affliction weepeth:
The sea to ebbe for griefe his flowing turneth:
The earth with pitie dull the center keepeth:
Fame is with wonder blazed:
Time runnes away for sorow:
Place standeth still amazed
To see my night of evils, which hath no morow.
Alas, a lovely she no pitie taketh,
To know my miseries, but chaste and cruell:
My fall her glorie maketh,
Yet still her eyes give to my flames their fuell.
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Fire burne me quite, till sense of burning leave me:
Aire let me draw no more thy breath in anguish:
Sea drownd in thee, of tedious life bereave me:
Earth take this earth, wherein my spirits languish.
Fame say I was not borne:
Time haste my dying hower:
Place see my grave uptorne:
Fire, aire, sea, earth, fame, time, place, shew your power.
Alas, from all their helpe I am exiled,
For hers am I, and death feares her displeasure.
Fie death, thou art beguiled,
Though I be hers, she makes of me no treasure.
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