Astrophel and Stella by Philip Sidney (as edited by Alexander B. Grosart in 1877)
I
Louing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show,
That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine,
Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pittie winne, and pity grace obtaine,
I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inuentions fine, her wits to entertaine,
Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sun-burnd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Inuentions stay;
Inuention, Natures childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowes; And others feet still seemde but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with childe to speak, and helplesse in my throwes, Biting my trewand pen, beating myselfe for spite,
Fool, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart, and write.
II
Not at the first sight, nor with a dribbed shot,
Loue gaue the wound, which, while I breathe, will bleede; But knowne worth did in tract of time proceed, Till by degrees, it had full conquest got.
I saw and lik'd; I lik'd but loued not;
I lou'd, but straight did not what Loue decreed: At length, to Loues decrees I, forc'd, agreed, Yet with repining at so partiall lot.
Now, euen that footstep of lost libertie
Is gone; and now, like slaue-borne Muscouite,
I call it praise to suffer tyrannie;
And nowe imploy the remnant of my wit
To make myselfe beleeue that all is well, While, with a feeling skill, I paint my hell.
III
Let dainty wits crie on the Sisters nine,
That, brauely maskt, their fancies may be told;
Or, Pindars apes, flaunt they in phrases fine,
Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold;
Or else let them in statlier glorie shine,
Ennobling new-found tropes with problemes old; Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbes or beasts which Inde or Affrick hold. For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know,
Phrases and problems from my reach do grow; And strange things cost too deare for my poor sprites.
How then? euen thus: in Stellaes face I reed
What Loue and Beautie be; then all my deed But copying is, what in her Nature writes.
IV
Vertue, alas, now let me take some rest;
Thou setst a bate betweene my will and wit;
If vaine Loue haue my simple soule opprest, Leaue what thou lik'st not, deale thou not with it. Thy scepter vse in some old Catoes brest,
Churches or Schooles are for thy seat more fit; I do confesse (pardon a fault confest) My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.
But if that needes thou wilt vsurping be
The little reason that is left in me,
And still th'effect of thy perswasions prooue,
I sweare, my heart such one shall show to thee, That shrines in flesh so true a deitie, That, Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in loue.
V
It is most true that eyes are form'd to serue
The inward light, and that the heauenly part
Ought to be King, from whose rules who do swerue, Rebels to nature, striue for their owne smart.
It is most true, what we call Cupids dart
An image is, which for ourselues we carue,
And, foolse, adore in temple of our hart,
Till that good god make church and churchmen starue.
True, that true beautie virtue is indeed, Whereof this beautie can be but a shade, Which, elements with mortal mixture breed.
True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soule up to our countrey moue:
True, and yet true that I must Stella loue.
VI
Some louers speake, when they their Muses entertaine,
Of hopes begot by feare, of wot not what desires,
Of force of heau'nly beames infusing hellish paine,
Of liuing deaths, dere wounds, faire storms, and freesing fires: Some one his song in Ioue and Ioues strange tales attires, Bordred with buls and swans, powdred with golden raine: Another, humbler wit, to shepherds pipe retires, Yet hiding royall bloud full oft in rurall vaine.
To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest stile affords: While teares poure out his inke, and sighes breathe out his words,
His paper pale despaire, and pain his pen doth moue.
I can speake what I feele, and feele as much as they,
But thinke that all the map of my state I display
When trembling voyce brings forth, that I do Stella loue.
VII
When Nature made her chief worke, Stellas eyes, In colour blacke why wrapt she beames so bright? Would she in beamy blacke, like Painter wise, Frame daintiest lustre, mixt of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue deuise,
In obiect best to knitt and strength our sight; Least, if no vaile these braue gleames did disguise, They, sunlike, should more dazle then delight?
Or would she her miraculous power show, That, whereas blacke seems Beauties contrary, She euen in black doth make all beauties flow?
Both so, and thus, she, minding Loue should be Plac'd euer there, gaue him this mourning weede To honour all their deaths who for her bleed.
VIII
Loue, borne in Greece, of late fled from his natiue place,
Forc't, by a tedious proof, that Turkish hardned heart
Is not fit mark to pierce with his fine-pointed dart,
And pleas'd with our soft peace, staide here his flying race:
But, finding these north clymes too coldly him embrace,
Not vsde to frozen clips, he straue to find some part
Where with most ease and warmth he might employ his art;
At length he perch'd himself in Stellaes ioyful face,
Whose faire skin, beamy eyes, like morning sun on snow, Deceiu'd the quaking boy, who thought, from so pure light, Effects of liuely heat must needs in nature grow:
But she, most faire, most cold, made him thence take his flight To my close heart, where, while some firebrands he did lay, He burnt vn'wares his wings, and cannot flie away.
IX
Queen Virtues Court, which some call Stellaes face,
Prepar'd by Natures choicest furniture, Hath his front built of alabaster pure; Gold is the couering of that stately place.
The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace,
Red porphir is, which locke of pearl makes sure, Whose porches rich (which name of chekes indure) Marble, mixt red and white, doe interlace.
The windowes now, through which this heau'nly guest
Looks ouer the world, and can find nothing such,
Which dare claime from those lights the name of best, Of touch they are, that without touch do touch,
Which Cupids self, from Beauties mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poore I am their straw.
X
Reason, in faith thou art well seru'd that still
Wouldst brabbling be with Sense and Loue in me;
I rather wisht thee clime the Muses hill; Or reach the fruite of Natures choycest tree; Or seek heau'ns course or heau'ns inside to see: Why shouldst thou toil our thorny soile to till?
Leaue Sense, and those which Senses obiects be; Deale thou with powers of thoughts, leaue Loue to Will.
But thou wouldst needs fight with both Loue and Sence,
With sword of wit giuing wounds of dispraise,
Till downe-right blowes did foyle thy cunning fence;
For, soone as they strake thee with Stellas rayes, Reason, thou kneeld'st, and offred'st straight to proue, By reason good, good reason her to loue.
XI
In truth, O Loue, with what a boyish kind
Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways,
That when the heau'n to thee his best displayes, Yet of that best thou leau'st the best behinde!
For, like a childe that some faire booke doth find,
With gilded leaues or colour'd vellum playes,
Or, at the most, on some fine picture stayes,
But neuer heeds the fruit of Writers mind; So when thou saw'st, in Natures cabinet, Stella, thou straight lookst babies in her eyes:
In her chekes pit thou didst thy pitfold set,
And in her breast bo-peepe or crouching lies, Playing and shining in each outward part; But, fool, seekst not to get into her heart.
XII
Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stellaes eyes
That from her locks thy day-nets none scapes free
That those lips sweld so full of thee they be
That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise
That in her breast thy pap well sugred lies
That her grace gracious makes thy wrongsthat she,
What words soere shee speake, perswades for thee
That her clere voice lifts thy fame to the skies,
Thou countest Stella thine, like those whose pow'rs Hauing got vp a breach by fighting well, Crie Victorie, this faire day all is ours! O no; her heart is such a cittadell, So fortified with wit, stor'd with disdaine, That to win it is all the skill and paine.
XIII
Phoebus was iudge betweene Ioue, Mars, and Loue, Of those three gods, whose armes the fairest were. Ioues golden shield did sable eagles beare,
Whose talons held young Ganimed aboue:
But in vert field Mars bare a golden speare, Which through a bleeding heart his point did shoue: Each had his creast; Mars carried Venus gloue, Ioue on his helmet the thunderbolt did reare.
Cupid then smiles, for on his crest there lies
Stellas faire haire; her face he makes his shield, Where roses gules are borne in siluer field.
Phoebus drew wide the curtaines of the skies, To blaze these last, and sware deuoutly then, The first, thus matcht, were scantly gentlemen.
XIV
Alas, haue I not pain enough, my friend,
Vpon whose breast a fiecer Gripe doth tire
Than did on him who first stale down the fire,
While Loue on me doth all his quiuer spend,
But with your rhubarbe words ye must contend
To grieue me worse, in saying that Desire
Doth plunge my wel-form'd soul euen in the mire Of sinfull thoughts, which do in ruin end?
If that be sinne which doth the manners frame,
Well staid with truth in word and faith of deede,
Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame;
If that be sin which in fixt hearts doth breed A loathing of all loose vnchastitie,
Then loue is sin, and let me sinfull be.
XV
You that do search for euery purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flowes,
And euery flower, not sweet perhaps, which growes
Neere thereabouts, into your poesie wring;
Ye that do dictionaries methode bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rowes;
You that poore Petrarchs long deceased woes
With new-borne sighes and denisen'd wit do sing;
You take wrong wayes; those far-fet helps be such As do bewray a want of inward tuch,
And sure, at length stol'n goods doe come to light:
But if, both for your loue and skill, your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame, Stella behold, and then begin to indite.
XVI
In nature, apt to like, when I did see
Beauties which were of many carrets fine, My boiling sprites did thither then incline, And, Loue, I thought that I was full of thee:
But finding not those restlesse flames in mee,
Which others said did make their souls to pine,
I thought those babes of some pinnes hurt did whine, By my soul iudging what Loues paine might be. But while I thus with this young lion plaid, Mine eyes (shall I say curst or blest?) beheld Stella: now she is nam'd, neede more be said?
In her sight I a lesson new haue speld. I now haue learnd loue right, and learnd euen so As they that being poysond poyson know.
XVII
His mother deere, Cupid offended late,
Because that Mars, growne slacker in her loue, With pricking shot he did not throughly moue To keepe the place of their first louing state.
The boy refusde for fear of Marses hate,
Who threatned stripes if he his wrath did proue;
But she, in chafe, him from her lap did shoue,
Brake bowe, brake shafts, while Cupid weeping sate;
Till that his grandame Nature, pitying it, Of Stellaes brows made him two better bowes, And in her eyes of arrows infinit.
O how for ioy he leaps! O how he crowes! And straight therewith, like wags new got to play, Falls to shrewd turnes! And I was in his way.
XVIII
With what sharp checkes I in myself am shent
When into Reasons audite I do goe,
And by iust counts my selfe a bankrout know
Of all those goods which heauen to me hath lent;
Vnable quite to pay euen Natures rent,
Which vnto it by birthright I do ow;
And, which is worse, no good excuse can showe, But that my wealth I haue most idly spent!
My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toyes, My wit doth striue those passions to defende, Which, for reward, spoil it with vain annoyes.
I see, my course to lose myself doth bend; I see: and yet no greater sorrow take
Than that I lose no more for Stellas sake.
XIX
On Cupids bowe how are my heart-strings bent, That see my wracke, and yet embrace the same!
When most I glory, then I feele most shame; I willing run, yet while I run repent; My best wits still their own disgrace inuent:
My very inke turns straight to Stellas name;
And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, Auise them selues that they are vainely spent:
For though she passe all things, yet what is all That vnto me, who fare like him that both Lookes to the skies and in a ditch doth fall? O let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, And not in nature for best fruits vnfit.
Scholler, saith Loue, bend hitherward your wit.
XX
Fly, fly, my friends; I haue my deaths wound, fly;
See there that Boy, that murthring Boy I say, Who like a theefe hid in dark bush doth ly, Till bloudy bullet get him wrongfull pray.
So, tyran he no fitter place could spie,
Nor so faire leuell in so secret stay,
As that sweet black which veils the heau'nly eye; There with his shot himself he close doth lay. Poore passenger, pass now thereby I did, And staid, pleas'd with the prospect of the place, While that black hue from me the the bad guest hid: But straight I saw the motions of lightning grace, And then descried the glistrings of his dart:
But ere I could flie thence, it pierc'd my heart.
XXI
Your words, my friend, (right healthfull caustiks), blame
My young mind marde, whom Loue doth windlas so;
That mine owne writings, like bad seruants, show
My wits quicke in vaine thoughts, in vertue lame;
That Plato I read for nought but if he tame
Such coltish yeeres; that to my birth I owe Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe,
Great expectation, wear a train of shame:
For since mad March great promise made of mee, If now the May of my yeeres much decline, What can be hop'd my haruest-time will be?
Sure, you say well, Your wisedomes golden myne Dig deepe with Learnings spade. Now tell me this:
Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is?
XXII
In highest way of heau'n the Sun did ride,
Progressing then from fair Twinnes golden place,
Hauing no mask of clouds before his face,
But streaming forth of heate in his chiefe pride;
When some fair ladies, by hard promise tied,
On horsebacke met him in his furious race;
Yet each prepar'd with fannes wel-shading grace From that foes wounds their tender skinnes to hide.
Stella alone with face vnarmed marcht, Either to do like him which open shone, Or carelesse of the wealth, because her owne. Yet were the hid and meaner beauties parcht;
Her dainties bare went free: the cause was this:
The sun, that others burn'd, did her but kisse.
XXIII
The curious wits, seeing dull pensiuenesse
Bewray it self in my long-settl'd eies Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle paines and missing ayme do guesse.
Some, that know how my spring I did addresse,
Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the prince my seruice tries, Thinke that I think State errours to redress:
But harder iudges iudge ambitions rage:
Scourge of itselfe, still climbing slipperie place:
Holds my young brain captiu'd in golden cage.
O fooles, or ouer-wise. alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start But only Stellaes eyes and Stellaes heart.
XXIV
Rich fooles there be whose base and filthy heart
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow,
And damning their own selues to Tantals smart,
Wealth breeding want; more rich, more wretched growe:
Yet to those fooles Heau'n doth such wit impart
As what their hands do hold, their heads do know, And knowing loue, and louing lay apart As sacred things, far from all dangers show.
But that rich foole, who by blind Fortunes lot
The richest gemme of loue and life enioys,
And can with foule abuse such beauties blot;
Let him, depriu'd of sweet but vnfelt ioys,
Exild for ay from those high treasures which He knowes not, grow in only folly rich!
XXV
The wisest scholler of the wight most wise
By Phoebus doom, with sugred sentence sayes,
That vertue, if it once met with our eyes,
Strange flames of loue it in our souls would raise;
But for that man with paine this truth descries,
Whiles he each thing in Senses balance wayes,
And so nor will nor can behold those skies
Which inward sunne to heroick mind displaies
Vertue of late, with vertuous care to ster Loue of herself, tooke Stellas shape, that she To mortall eyes might sweetly shine in her.
It is most true; for since I her did see, Vertues great beauty in that face I proue, And find th' effect, for I do burn in loue.
XXVI
Though dustie wits dare scorne Astrologie,
And fooles can thinke those lampes of purest light
Whose numbers, waies, greatnesse, eternity,
Promising wonders, wonder do inuite
To haue for no cause birthright in the sky
But for t