XIV. Alas! have I not pain enough? my friend!

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

ALAS! have I not pain enough? my friend!

Upon whose breast, a fiercer gripe doth tire,

Than did on him who first stole down the fire;

While LOVE on me, doth all his quiver spend:

But with your rhubarb words ye must contend

To grieve me worse in saying, “That Desire

Doth plunge my well-formed soul even in the mire

Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end.”

If that be sin, which doth the manners frame

Well stayed with truth in word, and faith of deed;

Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame:

If that be sin, which in fixt hearts doth breed

A loathing of all loose unchastity:

Then love is sin, and let me sinful be!