Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

FAINT Amorist, what! dost thou think

To taste love’s honey, and not drink

One dram of gall? or to devour

A world of sweet and taste no sour?

Dost thou ever think to enter

The Elysian fields, that dar’st not venture

In Charon’s barge? a lover’s mind

Must use to sail with every wind.

He that loves, and fears to try,

Learns his mistress to deny.

Doth she chide thee? ’tis to shew it

That thy coldness makes her do it.

Is she silent? is she mute?

Silence fully grants thy suit.

Doth she pout, and leave the room?

Then she goes to bid thee come.

Is she sick? Why then be sure

She invites thee to the cure.

Doth she cross thy suit with No?

Tush, she loves to hear thee woo.

Doth she call the faith of man

In question? Nay, she loves thee than:

And if ere she makes a blot,

She’s lost if that thou hit’st her not.

He that after ten denials

Dares attempt no further trials,

Hath no warrant to acquire

The dainties of his chaste desire.