Sir Philip Sidney






(from Astrophil and Stella, 45)


Stella oft sees the very face of woe

   Painted in my beclouded stormy face,

   But cannot skill to pity my disgrace,

Not though thereof the cause her self she know;

Yet hearing late a fable, which did show

   Of lovers never known a grievous case,

   Pity thereof gat in her breast such place

That, from that sea derived, tears' spring did flow.

Alas, if Fancy, drawn by imaged things,

Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breed

Than servant's wrack, where new doubts honour brings,

Then think, my dear, that you in me do read

   Of lover's ruin some sad tragedy:

   I am not I; pity the tale of me.