EDMUND SPENSER

MEN call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that yourself ye daily such do see :
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me.
For all the rest, however fair it be,

Shall turn to nought and lose that glorious hue ;
But only that is permanent and free

From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty that doth argue you

To be divine, and born of heavenly seed;
Derived from that fair Spirit, from whom all

true

And perfect beauty did at first proceed : He only fair, and what he fair hath made;

All other fair, like flowers, untimely fade.

PHILIP SIDNEY

(1554-86)

My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss ;
There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.

His heart his wound received from my sight,

My heart was wounded with his wounded heart : For as from me on him his hurt did light So still methought in me his hurt did smart. Both equal hurt in this change sought one bliss: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

PHILIP SIDNEY

LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to shew, That she, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow

Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburn'd brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's

stay;

Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;

And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my

way.

Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite;
Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart, and

PHILIP SIDNEY

VIRTUE, alas, now let me take some rest;
Thou set❜st a bate1 between my will and wit;
If vain Love have my simple soul opprest,
Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it.
Thy sceptre use in some old Cato's breast,

Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit;
I'do confess-pardon a fault confest—
My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.
But if that needs thou wilt usurping be
The little reason that is left in me,

And still th' effect of thy persuasions prove, I swear, my heart such one shall shew to thee, That shrines in flesh so true a deity,

That, Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love.

1 Debate.

PHILIP SIDNEY

It is most true that eyes are form'd to serve
The inward light, and that the heavenly part
Ought to be King, from whose rules who do

swerve,

Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart An image is, which for ourselves we carve, And, fools, adore in temple of our heart, Till that good god make church and churchmen

starve.

True, that true beauty virtue is indeed,

Whereof this beauty can be but a shade,
Which elements with mortal mixture breed.
True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,

And should in soul up to our country move:
True, and yet true that I must Stella love.