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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
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The Thirde Booke or Acte.
  
[O sweete glove the witness of my secrett Blisse]
  
[The Merchaunt Man, whome gayne dothe teache ye Sea]
  
[The Merchaunt man, whome many seas have taughte]
  
[Phaebus Farewell, a sweeter Sainte, I serve]
  
[Synce that the Stormy Rage of passyons darcke]
  
[Hearke playntfull Ghostes, Infernall furyes harcke?]
  
[Lyke those sicke folckes in whome straunge Humors flowe]
  
[Howe ys my Sunne (whose Beames are shyning brighte]
  
[This Cave ys Darcke, but yt had never Lighte]
  
[A Banisshed man longe barrd from his Desyer]
  
[My true Love hathe my harte, and I have his]
  
[O wordes whiche falle like Som̄er Deawe on mee]
  
[Doo not Disdayne O streighte upraysed Pyne?]
  
[Sweete Roote say thow, the Roote of my Desyer?]
  
[Yow goodly Pynes whiche still with brave assent]
  
[Lyke Dyvers Flowers whose dyvers Beutyes serve]
  
[Looke up fayre Liddes, the Treasures of my harte]
  
[Whye doest thow haste away]
  
[O, Stealing tyme, the Subject of Delay]
  
[My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?]
  
[When Twoo Sunnes doo appeare]
  
[Aurora nowe thow shewest thy blusshing Lighte]
  
[Beuty hathe force to catche the Humane sighte]
  
[Let him drincke this, Whome longe in Armes to folde]
  
[Gett hence fowle greeffe, the Cancker of the mynde]
  
[Vertue Bewty and Speeche, did stryke, wounde, Charme]
  
[The Love whiche ys imprinted in my sowle]
  
[What Toungue can her perfections tell?]
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THE THIRDE EGLOGUES.
  
[Lett Mother Earthe, now deck her self in flowers]
  
[A Neighboure myne, not longe agoo there was]
  
[Who, dothe Desyer that Chaste his wyfe shoulde bee]
  
[As I my litle Flock on Ister Bancke]
  
[In faythe good Histor, Longe ys youre delay]
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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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171

[Howe ys my Sunne (whose Beames are shyning brighte]

Howe ys my Sunne (whose Beames are shyning brighte,
Become the Cause of my Darcke ougly Nighte?
Or howe do I captyved in this darck plighte,
Bewayle the Case, and in the Cause delighte?
My mangled mynde huge Horrors still do frighte,
With Sence possest, and claymde by reasons Righte,
Betwixt whiche twoo in mee I have this fighte,
Where, who so wynnes, I putt my self to flighte.
Come cloudy feares, close up my daselled sighte,
Sorow suck up the Marowe of my Mighte.
Dewe Sighes blowe oute all sparckles of joyfull Lighte?
Tyre on Dispayer uppon my Tyered spirite
An ende, an ende, my Dullde penn can not wryte,
Nor masde heade thincke, nor faultering tongue resyte.
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