SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

Look then, and die! The pleasure

Doth answer well the pain : Small loss of mortal treasure,

Who may immortal gain ! Immortal be her graces,

Immortal is her mind ; They, fit for heavenly places

This, heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not,

Nor sense that grace descries ; Yet eyes deprived be not

From sight of her fair eyes Which, as of inward glory

They are the outward seal, So may they live still sorry,

Which die not in that weal. But who hath fancies pleased

With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised

On Nature's sweetest light !

po. Voices at the Window

T T 77/3 is it that, this dark night, r ' Underneath my window plalneth ? It is one who from thy sight

Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth Every other vulgar light. Why, alas, and are you he ?

Be not yet those fancies changed ? Dear, when you find change in me,

Though from me you be estranged, Let my change to ruin be.

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