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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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Volume III
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Volume IV
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The First Booke or Acte of the Countess of Pembrookes ARCADIA
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The Second Booke or Acte
  
[In vayne, myne eyes yow Laboure to amend]
  
[Lett not Oulde age disgrace my hye desyer]
  
[Synce so myne Eyes are subject to her sighte]
  
[My Sheepe are Thoughtes wch I bothe guyde & serve]
  
[Yee Living Powers enclosde in stately shryne]
  
[My wordes, in hope to blase my stedfast mynde]
  
[Loved I am, and yet Complayne of Love]
  
[Over these Brookes trusting to ease myne eyes]
  
[With twoo straunge fyers of equall heate possest]
  
[Feede on my sheepe, my Charge, my Comforte, feede?]
  
[Leave of my sheepe, yt ys no tyme to feede]
  
[A Hatefull Cry, with hate to heale]
  
[Apollo greate, whose beames the greater worlde do lighte]
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HERE BEGIN THE SECOND EGLOGUES.
  
[Thow Rebell vyle, come, to thy Master yeelde]
  
[Dorus tell mee, where ys thy wonted Motyon?]
  
[And are yow there oulde Pas? in trouthe I ever thoughte]
  
[As I behynde a Busshe did sitt]
  
[Alas how longe this Pillgrimage dothe last]
  
[Fayre Rockes, goodly Rivers, sweete Woodes, when shall I see peace?]
  
[My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?]
  
[Reason, tell mee thy Mynde, yf here bee Reason?]
  
[O sweete woodes, the Delighte of Solitarynes?]
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The Thirde Booke or Acte.
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The Fourthe Booke or Acte.
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The Fifte and Last Booke or Acte.
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APPENDIX

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89

[In vayne, myne eyes yow Laboure to amend]

In vayne, myne eyes yow Laboure to amend,
With flowing Teares youre fainte of Hasty sighte?
Synce to my harte her shape yow so did sende,
That her I see, though yow did lose youre sighte.
In vayne my harte, now yow wth sighte are burnde
With sighes yow seeke to coole youre whott desyer;
Synce sighes into myne inwarde furnace turnde,
For Bellowes serve to kindell more the fyer.
Reason, in vayne, now yow have lost my harte,
My heade yow seeke, as to youre strongest forte:
Synce there myne eyes have playde so false a parte,
That to youre strengthe youre foes have suche resorte?
And since in vayne (I fynde) were all my stryfe,
To this straunge deathe I vaynely yeelde my lyfe.
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