Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn, whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? II.1 COME, sleep; O sleep! the certain knot of peace, The indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw. O make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay if thou do so. And if these things, as being thine by right, III.? LEAVE me, O love! which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things! Gray's "Miscellaneous Works of Sidney," p. 92. Sidney's "Arcadia," p. 539, edit. 1674. Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light; That doth both shine, and give us sight to see. O take fast hold! Let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death; And think how evil becometh him to slide Who seeketh Heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world! thy uttermost I see: X. PSALM LXIX.1 (From the translation of the Psalms by Sir Philip Sidney, and his sister Mary, Countess of Pembroke.) ROUBLOUS seas my soul surround: In this gulf, this whirling hole: Waiting aid, with earnest eying, From the edition of 1823, p. 120. This Psalm belongs to the part which is generally ascribed to the Countess of Pembroke. Dim and dry in me are found Wrongly set to work my woe, Bettering still, in me impairs. Mighty Lord! let not my case Blank the rest that hope in Thee! Let not Jacob's God deface All His friends in blush of me! Thine it is, Thine only quarrel Dights me thus in shame's apparel: Mote nor spot nor least disgrace, But for Thee, could taint my face. kin a stranger quite, grown; To my Most uncared for, most unknown. With Thy temple's zeal out-eaten, With Thy slanders' scourges beaten, While the shot of piercing spite, Bent at Thee, on me doth light. Unto Thee what needs be told My reproach, my blot, my blame? Sith both these Thou didst behold, And canst all my haters name. Whiles afflicted, whiles heart-broken, Comfort? nay, not seen before, When for drink my thirst did call. Sightless most, yet mightless more! Down upon them fury rain! Lighten indignation down! Turn to waste and desert plain House and palace, field and town! Let not one be left abiding Where such rancour had residing! Whom Thou painest, more they pain; Hurt by Thee, by them is slain. XI. FANCY AND DESIRE.1 (By Edward Earl of Oxford. Born 1540? died 1604.) OME hither, shepherd's swain! I Sir, what do you require? pray thee, shew to me thy name! My name is Fond Desire. When wert thou born, Desire? In pomp and prime of May. By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot? Tell me, who was thy nurse? What hadst thou then to drink? What cradle wert thou rocked in? What lulled thee then asleep? 1 Given by Percy from Deloney's "Garland of Goodwill," p. 105, Percy Soc. ed.; by Ellis and others from Breton's "Bower of Delights," 1597. A shorter copy in Puttenham's "Art of Poesy," 1589, p. 172, as by "Edward, Earl of Oxford, a most noble and learned gentleman." Also imperfectly in Harl. MS. 6910, fol. 145, and in MS. Rawl. 85, fol. 15, verso. |