 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
E. D.
Prometheus
when first from heaven hie,
He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene,
Fond of Delight, a Satyre standing by,
Gave it a kisse, as it like sweete had beene.
He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene,
Fond of Delight, a Satyre standing by,
Gave it a kisse, as it like sweete had beene.
Feeling forthwith the other burning power,
Wood with the smart with showts and shryking shrill,
He sought his ease in river, field, and bower,
But for the time his griefe went with him still.
Wood with the smart with showts and shryking shrill,
He sought his ease in river, field, and bower,
But for the time his griefe went with him still.
So silly I with that unwonted sight
In humane shape an Angell from above,
Feeding mine eyes, the impression there did light,
That since I runne and rest as pleaseth love,
The difference is, the Satires lippes, my hart,
He for a while I evermore have smart.
In humane shape an Angell from above,
Feeding mine eyes, the impression there did light,
That since I runne and rest as pleaseth love,
The difference is, the Satires lippes, my hart,
He for a while I evermore have smart.
A Satyre once did runne away for dread,
With sound of horne, which he himselfe did blow,
Fearing and feared thus from himselfe he fled,
Deeming strange evill in that he did not know.
With sound of horne, which he himselfe did blow,
Fearing and feared thus from himselfe he fled,
Deeming strange evill in that he did not know.
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Such causelesse feares when coward minds do take,
It makes them flie that which they faine would have:
As this poore beast who did his rest forsake,
Thinking not why, but how himselfe to save.
It makes them flie that which they faine would have:
As this poore beast who did his rest forsake,
Thinking not why, but how himselfe to save.
Even thus might I for doubts which I conceave
Of mine owne wordes, my owne good hap betray,
And thus might I for feare of may be, leave
The sweete pursute of my desired pray.
Better like I thy Satyre deerest Dyer,
Who burnt his lips to kisse faire shining fire.
Of mine owne wordes, my owne good hap betray,
And thus might I for feare of may be, leave
The sweete pursute of my desired pray.
Better like I thy Satyre deerest Dyer,
Who burnt his lips to kisse faire shining fire.
| The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | |