Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Sir Philip Sidney. 15548691. Philomela
THE Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth | |
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, | |
While late-bare Earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, | |
Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making; | |
And mournfully bewailing, | 5 |
Her throat in tunes expresseth | |
What grief her breast oppresseth, | |
For Tereus’ force on her chaste will prevailing. | |
O Philomela fair, O take some gladness | |
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness! | 10 |
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, | 15 |
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. | 20 |
O Philomela fair, O 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. |