XCII. Be your words made, good Sir! of Indian ware

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

BE your words made, good Sir! of Indian ware;

That you allow me them by so small rate?

Or do you cutted Spartan’s 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?

I would know whether she sit or walk?

How clothed? how waited on? sighed she or smiled?

Whereof? with whom? how often did she talk?

With what pastime Time’s journey she beguiled?

If her lips deigned to sweeten my poor name?

Say all! and all well said, still say the same!