SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

Philomela fair, take some gladness

That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness /

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

Alas ! she hath no other cause of anguish

But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken ; Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, Full womanlike complains her will was broken But I, who, daily craving, Cannot have to content me, Have more cause to lament me, Since wanting is more woe than too much having.

Philomela fair, tale some gladness

That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness !

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart in-vadeth.

92. The Highway

TT IGHWAY, 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;

Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed ;

By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot ;

Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ;

And that you know I envy you no lot

Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss !

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