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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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THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA
  
[dedication]
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[THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.]
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THE SECOND BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
  
[In vaine, mine Eyes, you labour to amende]
  
[Let not old age disgrace my high desire]
  
[Since so mine eyes are subject to your sight]
  
[My sheepe are thoughts, which I both guide and serve]
  
[You living powres enclosed in stately shrine]
  
[My words, in hope to blaze my stedfast minde]
  
[What toong can her perfections tell]
  
[Alas how long this pilgrimage doth last?]
  
[Poore Painters oft with silly Poets joyne]
  
[Loved I am, and yet complaine of Love]
  
[Over these brookes trusting to ease mine eyes]
  
[Me thought some staves he mist: if so, not much amisse]
  
[Wyth two strange fires of equall heate possest]
  
[A hatefull cure with hate to heale]
  
[Thy elder care shall from thy carefull face]
  
[Apollo great, whose beames the greater world do light]
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The second Eclogues.
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[THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.]
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THE FOURTH BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
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THE FIFTH BOOKE OF THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
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POEMS FIRST PRINTED IN THE FOLIO OF 1593.
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POEMS FROM THE OLD ARCADIA
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Syr P. S. His Astrophel and Stella.
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OTHER SONNETS OF VARIABLE VERSE.
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CERTAINE SONETS WRITTEN BY SIR PHILIP SIDNEY: Never before printed.
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TWO PASTORELS, MADE BY SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY.
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[THE LADY OF MAY]
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Volume III
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Volume IV

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310

[Wyth two strange fires of equall heate possest]

[Philoclea.]
Wyth two strange fires of equall heate possest,
The one of Love, the other Jealousie,
Both still do worke, in neither finde I rest:
For both, alas, their strengthes together tie:
The one aloft doth holde, the other hie.
Love wakes the jealous eye least thence it moves:
The jealous eye, the more it lookes, it loves.
These fires increase: in these I dayly burne:
They feede on me, and with my wings do flie:
My lovely joyes to dolefull ashes turne:
Their flames mount up, my powers prostrate lie:
They live in force, I quite consumed die.
One wonder yet farre passeth my conceate:
The fuell small: how be the fires so great?

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