 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
[The ladd Philisides]
The ladd PhilisidesLay by a rivers side,
In flowry fielde a gladder eye to please:
His pipe was at his foote
His lambs were him besides,
A widow turtle neere on bared rootes
Sate wailing without bootes.
Each thing both sweet & sadd
Did draw his boyling braine
To thinke, & thinke with paine
Of Miras beames eclipst by absence bad.
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With teares, he saide, or sorrow said for him.
O earth, once answere give,
So may thy stately grace
By north, or south still rich adorned live:
So Mira Long may be
On thy then blessed face,
Whose foote doth set a heav'n on cursed thee,
I aske, now answere me.
If th'author of thy blisse
Phœbus, that shepheard high
Do turne from thee his eye,
Doth not thy selfe, when he long absent is,
Like Rogue, all ragged goe,
And pine away with daily wasting woe?
Tell me you wanton brooke,
So may your sliding race
Shunn lothed-loving bankes with conning crooke:
So in you ever new
Mira may looke her face,
And make you faire with shadow of her hue:
So when to pay your due
To mother sea you come,
She chide you not for stay,
Nor beat you for your play,
Tell me if your diverted springs become
Absented quite from you,
Are you not dried? Can you your selves renew?
Tell me you flowers faire
Cowslipp & Columbine,
So may your Make this wholsome springtime aire
With you embraced lie,
And lately thence untwine:
But with dew dropps engendre children hy:
So may you never dy,
But pulld by Miras hande
Dresse bosome hers or hedd,
Or scatter on her bedd,
Tell me, if husband springtime leave your lande,
When he from you is sent,
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Tell me my seely pipe,
So may thee still betide
A clenly cloth thy moistnes for to wipe:
So may the cheries redd
Of Miras lipps divide
Their sugred selves to kisse thy happy hedd:
So may her eares be ledd,
Her eares where Musique lives,
To heare, & not despise
The liribliring cries,
Tell, if that breath, which thee thy sounding gives,
Be absent farre from thee,
Absent alone canst thou then piping be?
Tell me my lamb of gold,
So maist thou long abide
The day well fed; the night in faithfull folde:
So grow thy wooll of note,
In time that richly di'de
It may be part of Miras peticoate,
Tell me, if wolves the throte
Have cought of thy deare damme,
Or she from thee be staide,
Or thou from her be straide,
Canst thou, poore lamme, become anothers lamme?
Or rather till thou die
Still for thy Dam with bea-waymenting crie?
Tell me ô Turtle true,
So may no fortune breed
To make thee nor thy better-loved rue:
So may thy blessings swarme
That Mira may thee feede
With hand & mouth, with lapp & brest keepe warme,
Tell me if greedy arme,
Do fondly take away
With traitor lime the one,
The other left alone,
Tell me poore wretch, parted from wretched pray
Disdaine not you the greene,
Wayling till death shun you not to be seene?
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Say all, & I with them,
Absence is death, or worse, to them that love.
So I unlucky lad
Whome hills from her do hemme,
What fitts me now but teares, & sighings sadd?
O fortune too too badd,
I rather would my sheepe
Thad'st killed with a stroke,
Burnt Caban lost my cloke,
When want one hower those eyes which my joyes keepe.
Oh! what doth wailing winne?
Speeche without ende were better not begin.
My song clime thou the winde
Which holland sweet now gently sendeth in,
That on his wings the leavell thou maist finde
To hit, but Kissing hit
Her ear's the weights of wit.
If thou know not for whome thy Master dies,
These markes shall make thee wise:
She is the heardesse faire that shines in darke
And gives her kidds no food, but willow's barke.
This said, at length he ended,
His oft sigh-broken dittie,
Then raise, but raise on leggs: which faintnes bended,
With skinne in sorrow died,
With face the plot of pittie,
With thoughts which thoughts their owne tormentors tried,
He rase, & streight espied
His Ramme, who to recover
The Ewe another loved,
With him proud battell proved.
He envied such a death in sight of lover,
And alwaies westward eying
More envied Phœbus for his westerne flyinge.
| The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | |