Author: Sir Philip Sidney

In truth, oh Love, with what a boyish kind Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways: That when the […]

Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be, And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, Tempers her words to […]

I might! unhappy word O me, I might, And then would not, or could not, see my bliss; Till now […]

Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound; fly! See there that boy, that murthering boy I say, Who […]

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, Which now my breast o’ercharged to music lendeth? To you, to […]

Queen Virtue’s court, which some call Stella’s face, Prepar’d by Nature’s choicest furniture, Hath his front built of alabaster pure; […]

WITH how sad steps, O moon, thou climb’st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What! may […]

With what sharp checks I in myself am shent, When into Reason’s audit I do go: And by just counts […]

Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s […]

His mother dear Cupid offended late, Because that Mars grown slacker in her love, With pricking shot he did not […]

Because I breathe not love to every one, Nor do not use set colours for to wear, Nor nourish special […]

Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest. Thou set’st a bate between my soul and wit. If vain love […]

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance Guided so well that I obtain’d the prize, Both by the […]

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of […]

The curious wits seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, […]

Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love, Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were: Jove’s golden shield […]

Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread; For Love is dead All love is dead, infected With plague […]

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange, one for the other giv’n. I hold his […]

When Nature made her chief work, Stella’s eyes, In colour black why wrapt she beams so bright? Would she in […]

Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s […]