 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
138
[Since wayling is a bud of causefull sorowe]
Since
wayling is a bud of causefull sorowe,
Since sorow is the follower of evill fortune,
Since no evill fortune equalls publique damage:
Now Princes losse hath made our damage publique,
Sorow, pay we to thee the rights of Nature,
And inward griefe seale up with outward wailing.
Since sorow is the follower of evill fortune,
Since no evill fortune equalls publique damage:
Now Princes losse hath made our damage publique,
Sorow, pay we to thee the rights of Nature,
And inward griefe seale up with outward wailing.
Why should we spare our voice from endlesse wailing,
Who justly make our hearts the seate of sorow?
In such a case where it appeares that nature
Doth add her force unto the sting of fortune:
Choosing alas! this our theatre publique,
Where they would leave trophees of cruell damage,
Who justly make our hearts the seate of sorow?
In such a case where it appeares that nature
Doth add her force unto the sting of fortune:
Choosing alas! this our theatre publique,
Where they would leave trophees of cruell damage,
Then since such pow'rs conspir'd unto our damage
(Which may be know'n, but never help't with wailing)
Yet let us leave a monument in publique
Of willing teares, torne haires, & cries of sorrow.
For lost, lost is by blowe of cruell fortune
Arcadias gemme the noblest childe of nature,
(Which may be know'n, but never help't with wailing)
Yet let us leave a monument in publique
Of willing teares, torne haires, & cries of sorrow.
For lost, lost is by blowe of cruell fortune
Arcadias gemme the noblest childe of nature,
O nature doting olde, ô blinded nature,
How hast thou torne thy selfe! sought thine owne damage!
In graunting such a scope to filthy fortune,
By thy impes losse to fill the world with wai'ling.
Cast thy stepmother eyes upon our sorowe,
Publique our losse: so, see, thy shame is publique.
How hast thou torne thy selfe! sought thine owne damage!
In graunting such a scope to filthy fortune,
By thy impes losse to fill the world with wai'ling.
Cast thy stepmother eyes upon our sorowe,
Publique our losse: so, see, thy shame is publique.
139
O that we had, to make our woes more publique,
Seas in our eyes, & brasen tongues by nature,
A yelling voice, & heartes compos'd of sorow,
Breath made of flames, wits knowing nought but damage,
Our sports murdering our selves, our musiques wailing,
Our studies fixt upon the falles of fortune.
Seas in our eyes, & brasen tongues by nature,
A yelling voice, & heartes compos'd of sorow,
Breath made of flames, wits knowing nought but damage,
Our sports murdering our selves, our musiques wailing,
Our studies fixt upon the falles of fortune.
No, no, our mischiefe growes in this vile fortune,
That private paines can not breath out in publique
The furious inward griefes with hellish wailing:
But forced are to burthen feeble nature
With secret sense of our eternall damage,
And sorow feede, feeding our soules with sorow.
That private paines can not breath out in publique
The furious inward griefes with hellish wailing:
But forced are to burthen feeble nature
With secret sense of our eternall damage,
And sorow feede, feeding our soules with sorow.
Since sorow then concludeth all our fortune
With all our deathes shew we this damage publique.
His nature feares to die who lives still wailing.
With all our deathes shew we this damage publique.
His nature feares to die who lives still wailing.
| The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | |