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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.
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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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187

[Doo not Disdayne O streighte upraysed Pyne?]

Doo not Disdayne O streighte upraysed Pyne?
That, wounding thee, my Thoughtes in thee I grave,
Synce that my thoughtes as Streighte as streightnes thyne,
No smaller wounde, (Alas) furr deeper have?
Deeper engraved whiche salve nor Tyme can save,
Given to my harte by my fore wounded eyen
Thus Cruell to my self, how Canst thow Crave;
My Inwarde Hurt shoulde spare thy owteward Rhyne?
Yet still fayre Tree lyfte up thy stately Lyne?
Live longe, and longe witness my Chosen smarte?
With barrd Desyers, barrd by my self imparte
And in this growyng Barcke, growe verses myne.
My Harte my worde my worde hathe given my harte?
The Giver given from Gifte shall never parte.
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