Sir Philip Sidney: Всі вірші поета

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Sonnet 13: Phoebus Was Judge

Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love,

Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were:

Jove's golden shield did eagle sables bear,

Whose talons held young Ganymede above:

But in vert field Mars bare a golden spear,

Which through a bleeding heart his point did shove:

Each had his crest; Mars carried Venus' glove,

Jove in his helm the thunderbolt did rear.

Sir Philip Sidney

You Gote-herd Gods

Strephon.

You Gote-herd Gods, that loue the grassie mountaines,

You Nimphes that haunt the springs in pleasant vallies,

You Satyrs ioyde with free and quiet forests,

Vouchsafe your silent eares to playning musique,

Which to my woes giues still an early morning;

And drawes the dolor on till wery euening.

Klaius.

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 92: Be Your Words Made

Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware,

That you allow me them by so small rate?

Or do you cutted Spartans imitate?

Or do you mean my tender ears to spare,

That to my questions you so total are?

When I demand of Phœnix Stella's state,

You say, forsooth, you left her well of late:

O God, think you that satisfies my care?

Sir Philip Sidney

Song

Who hath his fancy pleased

With fruits of happy sight,

Let here his eyes be raised

On Nature's sweetest light;

A light which doth dissever

And yet unite the eyes,

A light which, dying never,

Is cause the looker dies.

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 84: Highway

Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be,

And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet,

Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet

More oft than to a chamber melody.

Now, blessed you bear onward blessed me

To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet:

My Muse and I must you of duty greet

With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully.

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 26: Though Dusty Wits

Though dusty wits dare scorn astrology,

And fools can think those lamps of purest light

Whose numbers, ways, greatness, eternity,

Promising wonders, wonder do invite,

To have for no cause birthright in the sky,

But for to spangle the black weeds of night:

Or for some brawl, which in that chamber high,

They should still dance to please a gazer's sight;

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 4: Virtue, Alas

Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest.

Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit.

If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd,

Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it.

The scepter use in some old Cato's breast;

Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit.

I do confess, pardon a fault confess'd,

My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 30: Whether the Turkish New Moon

Whether the Turkish new moon minded be

To fill his horns this year on Christian coast;

How Poles' right king means, with leave of host,

To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy;

If French can yet three parts in one agree;

What now the Dutch in their full diets boast;

How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost,

Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree;

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 12: Cupid, Because Thou

Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stella's eyes,

That from her locks, thy day-nets, noe scapes free,

That those lips swell, so full of thee they be,

That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise,

That in her breast thy pap well sugared lies,

That he Grace gracious makes thy wrongs, that she

What words so ere she speak persuades for thee,

That her clear voice lifts thy fame to the skies:

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 11: In Truth, Oh Love

In truth, oh Love, with what a boyish kind

Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways:

That when the heav'n to thee his best displays,

Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind.

For like a child that some fair book doth find,

With gilded leaves or colored vellum plays,

Or at the most on some find picture stays,

But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind:

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 64: No More, My Dear

No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;

Oh, give my passions leave to run their race;

Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace;

Let folk o'ercharg'd with brain against me cry;

Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye;

Let me no steps but of lost labour trace;

Let all the earth with scorn recount my case,

But do not will me from my love to fly.

Sir Philip Sidney

Sonnet 22: In Highest Way of Heav'n

In highest way of heav'n the Sun did ride,

Progressing then from fair twins' golden place:

Having no scarf of clouds before his face,

But shining forth of heat in his chief pride;

When some fair ladies by hard promise tied,

On horseback met him in his furious race,

Yet each prepar'd with fan's well-shading grace

From that foe's wounds their tender skins to hide.

Sir Philip Sidney