Selected Writings

Sir Philip Sidney, Richard Dutton

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9780415942324
• eBook ISBN: 9781351549219
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Collezioni letterarie europee

Sir Philip Sydney was born in 1534 and by the time of his death only 32 years later had come to exemplify the ideal courtier. This collection of his writings is the ideal window into the mind and work of this essayist, poet, diplomat, and favorite.

Astrophil and Stella

1

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to to show,

That the dear She might take some pleasure of my pain:

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,

Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:

Oft turning others’ leaves, to see if thence would flow

Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn’.d brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention’s stay,

Invention, Nature’s child, fled step-dame Study’s blows,

And others’ feett still seem’d but strangers in my way.

Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,

Biting my truand† pen, beating myself for spite,

“Fool,” said my Muse to me, “look in thy heartt and write”.

feet with sense of poetic feet; truand idle; heart i.e. at the image of Stella there

2

Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed† shot

Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed:

But known worth did in mine† of time proceed,

Till by degrees it had full conquest got.

I saw and liked, I liked but loved not,

I loved, but straight did not what Love† decreed:

At length to Love’s decrees, I forc’d, agreed,

Yet with repining at so partial† lot.

Now even that footstep of lost liberty

Is gone, and now like slave-born Muscovite,

I call it praise to suffer tyranny;

And now employ the remnant of my wit,

To make myself believe, that all is well,

While with a feeling skill I paint my hell.

drillbed random; mine as in siege warfare; love almost always, as here, implies blind, wanton Cupid; partial unbalanced, unfair

3

Let dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine†,

That bravely maskt†, their fancies may be told:

Or Pindar’s apes†, flaunt they in phrases fine,

Enam’ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold:

Or else let them in statelier glory shine,

Ennobling new found tropes† with problems† old:

Or with strange similes enrich each line,

Of herbs or beasts, which lnd or Afric hold.

For me in sooth, no Muse but one I know:

Phrases and problems from my reach do grow,

And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites.

How then? even thus: in Stella’s face I read,

What love and beauty be, then all my deed

But copying is, what in her Nature writes.

Sisters nine the Muses; bravely maskt splendidly bedecked/hidden; Pindar’s apes imitators of Pindar; tropes rhetorical figures; problems questions for disputation

4

Virtue alas, now let me take some rest,

Thou setst a bate† between my will and wit,

If vain love have my simple soul opprest:

Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it.

Thy sceptre use in some old Cato’s† breast;

Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit:

I do confess, pardon a fault confest:

My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.

But if that needs thou wilt usurping be,

The little reason that is left in me,

And still th’effect of thy persuasions prove†:

I swear, my heart such one shall show to thee,

That shrines in flesh so true a deity,

That Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love.

bate discord; old Cato “a bitter punisher of faults”; prove try

5

It is most true, that eyes are form’ d to serve

The inward light†: and that the heavenly part

Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve,

Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart.

It is most true, what we call Cupid’s dart,

An image is, which for ourselves we carve;

And, fools, adore in temple of our heart,

Till that good god make church and churchman starve.

True, that true Beauty Virtue is indeed,

Whereof this beauty can be but a shade,

Which elements with mortal mixture breed:

True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,

And should in soul up to our country move:

True, and yet true that I must Stella love.

inward light reason

6

Some lovers speak when they their Muses entertain,

Of hopes begot by fear, of wot not what desires:

Of force of heav’nly beams, infusing hellish pain:

Of living deaths, dear wounds, fair storms and freezing fires:†

Some one his song in Jove, and Jove’s strange tales† attires,

Bordered with bulls and swans, powdered with golden rain:

Another humbl...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Selected Writings
• Contents
• Introduction
• A Note on the Texts
• Further Reading
• Astrophil and Stella
• The Defence of Poesy
• Miscellaneous Poems
• Notes