Transcriber’s Note: Variable spelling and hyphenation have beenretained from the original printing. Some minor errors in punctuation and capitalisationhave been corrected, and some changes to the text are listed at the end.
SIR P. S. HIS
ASTROPHEL AND
STELLA.
Wherein the excellence of sweete
Poesie is concluded.
At London,
Printed for Thomas Newman.
Anno Domini. 1591.
SIR P. S. HIS
ASTROPHEL AND
STELLA.
Loving in trueth, and fayne my love in verse to show,
That the deere Shee, might take some pleasure of my paine:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pittie winne, and pittie grace obtaine.
I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wittes to entertaine,
Oft turning others leaves, to see if thence would flowe,
Some fresh and fruitfull showre, upon my Sunne-burnt braine.
But wordes came halting out, wanting inventions stay,
Invention Natures childe, fledde Stepdame studies blowes:
And others feete, still seem’de but strangers in my way,
Thus great with Childe to speake, and helplesse in my throwes,
Byting my trewand penne, beating my selfe for spite:
Foole saide my Muse to mee, looke in thy heart and write.
Not at first sight, nor with a dribbing shot,
Love gave the wound, which while I breath will bleede:
But knowne, worth did in mine of time proceede,
Till by degrees it had full conquest got.
I sawe and lik’d, I lik’d but loved not,
I lov’d, but did not straight what Love decreede:
At length to Loves decrees, I forst agreede:
Yet with repining at so partiall lot.
Now even that foot-steppe of lost libertie
Is gone, and now like slave borne Muscovite:
I call it praise to suffer tyrannie,
[2]And now imploy the remnant of my wit
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