The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney In Three Volumes |
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XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
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XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
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[My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?] |
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The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | ||
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[My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?]
My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?
Thy Mistris Songe ys now a Sorowes Crye,
Her hande benomde with Fortunes dayly blowes.
Her mynde amasde can neythers help apply,
Weare these my wordes, as Mourning weedes of woes?
Black Incke become the State wherein I Dye.
And thoughe not my moanes bee not in Musick bounde
Of written greefes yet bee the sylent grounde.
Thy Mistris Songe ys now a Sorowes Crye,
Her hande benomde with Fortunes dayly blowes.
Her mynde amasde can neythers help apply,
Weare these my wordes, as Mourning weedes of woes?
Black Incke become the State wherein I Dye.
And thoughe not my moanes bee not in Musick bounde
Of written greefes yet bee the sylent grounde.
The worlde dothe yeelde suche yll Consorted showes,
With sircled Course, wch no wyse stay can trye,
That Chyldish stuff, wch knowes not frendes from foes,
(Better despysde), bee wonder gasing eye.
Thus Noble golde downe to the bottome goes,
When worthles Corck alofte dothe floating lye.
Thus in thy self, Leste stringes are Lowdest founde,
And Lowest Stoppes doo yeelde the highest sounde.
With sircled Course, wch no wyse stay can trye,
That Chyldish stuff, wch knowes not frendes from foes,
(Better despysde), bee wonder gasing eye.
Thus Noble golde downe to the bottome goes,
When worthles Corck alofte dothe floating lye.
Thus in thy self, Leste stringes are Lowdest founde,
And Lowest Stoppes doo yeelde the highest sounde.
The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | ||