The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney In Three Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 2. |
[My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?] |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
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 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
155
[My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?]
My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?
To blase my onely Secrettes:
Alas yt ys no glory,
To singe my owne decayed state:
Alas yt ys no Comfort,
To speake withoute an aunswer,
Alas yt ys no wisdome,
To shewe the woundes without Cure.
To blase my onely Secrettes:
Alas yt ys no glory,
To singe my owne decayed state:
Alas yt ys no Comfort,
To speake withoute an aunswer,
Alas yt ys no wisdome,
To shewe the woundes without Cure.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
My eyes bee Dym̄, my Lym̄es shake,
My voyce ys hoarse, my throate scortche,
My toungue to this my Roof cleaves,
My fancy amasde, my thoughtes Dulde.
My hart dothe ake, my lyfe fayntes,
My sowle begins to take leave,
So greate a passyon all feele.
To thincke a sore so Deadly,
I shoulde so rashly ripp up.
My eyes bee Dym̄, my Lym̄es shake,
My voyce ys hoarse, my throate scortche,
My toungue to this my Roof cleaves,
My fancy amasde, my thoughtes Dulde.
My hart dothe ake, my lyfe fayntes,
My sowle begins to take leave,
So greate a passyon all feele.
To thincke a sore so Deadly,
I shoulde so rashly ripp up.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
Yf unto Songe thow arte bent,
Goo singe the falle of oulde Thebes,
The warres of ougly Centaures,
The Lyfe, the Deathe of Hector,
So may thy Songe bee famous.
Or yf to love thow arte bent,
Recounte the Rape of Europe
Adonis ende, Venus Nett.
The Sleepy Kisse, the Mone stale
So may thy Songe bee pleasant.
Yf unto Songe thow arte bent,
Goo singe the falle of oulde Thebes,
The warres of ougly Centaures,
The Lyfe, the Deathe of Hector,
So may thy Songe bee famous.
Or yf to love thow arte bent,
Recounte the Rape of Europe
Adonis ende, Venus Nett.
The Sleepy Kisse, the Mone stale
So may thy Songe bee pleasant.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
To blase my onely Secrettes.
Wherein doo onely florish,
The sory fruites of Anguish,
The Songe therof, alas will,
The Tunes bee cryes, the Wordes playntes,
The Singer ys the songes Theme,
Wherein no eare can have Joy,
Nor eye receyves an object,
Myne plesure here in fame gott.
To blase my onely Secrettes.
Wherein doo onely florish,
The sory fruites of Anguish,
The Songe therof, alas will,
The Tunes bee cryes, the Wordes playntes,
The Singer ys the songes Theme,
Wherein no eare can have Joy,
Nor eye receyves an object,
Myne plesure here in fame gott.
156
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
Alas shee saythe I am thyne,
So are thy paynes, my paynes too?
Thy heated hart my seate ys,
Wherein I burne, thy Breathe ys,
My voyce to hott to keepe in,
Besydes, to heare the Aucthor
Of all my harmes, lo here shee,
That onely can redress thee,
Of her I will demaund help.
Alas shee saythe I am thyne,
So are thy paynes, my paynes too?
Thy heated hart my seate ys,
Wherein I burne, thy Breathe ys,
My voyce to hott to keepe in,
Besydes, to heare the Aucthor
Of all my harmes, lo here shee,
That onely can redress thee,
Of her I will demaund help.
My Muse I yeelde, My Muse singe?
But all thy Song herein knitt,
The Lyfe wee Leade ys all Love,
The Love wee holde ys all deathe.
Nor oughte I crave to feede deathe,
Nor oughte I seeke to shone deathe.
But onely that my Goddess
My lyfe my Deathe dothe Counte hers.
But all thy Song herein knitt,
The Lyfe wee Leade ys all Love,
The Love wee holde ys all deathe.
Nor oughte I crave to feede deathe,
Nor oughte I seeke to shone deathe.
But onely that my Goddess
My lyfe my Deathe dothe Counte hers.
| The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | |