Sir Philip Sidney.

1554-1586

98   The Bargain

MY true love hath my heart, and I have his,
      By just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
      There never was a better bargain driven:
            My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
      My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
      I cherish his because in me it bides:
          My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

99   Song

WHO hath his fancy pleasàd
    With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raisàd
    On Nature’s sweetest light;
A light which doth dissever
    And yet unite the eyes,
A light which, dying never,
    Is cause the looker dies.

She never dies, but lasteth
    In life of lover’s heart;
He ever dies that wasteth
    In love his chiefest part:
Thus is her life still guarded
    In never-dying faith;
Thus is his death rewarded,
    Since she lives in his death.

Look then, and die! The pleasure
    Doth answer well the pain:
Small loss of mortal treasure,
    Who may immortal gain!
Immortal be her graces,
    Immortal is her mind;
They, fit for heavenly places—
    This, heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not,
    Nor sense that grace descries;
Yet eyes deprivàd be not
    From sight of her fair eyes—
Which, as of inward glory
    They are the outward seal,
So may they live still sorry,
    Which die not in that weal.

But who hath fancies pleasàd
With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raisàd
On Nature’s sweetest light!

100   Voices at the Window

WHO is it that, this dark night,
    Underneath my window plaineth?
It is one who from thy sight
    Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth
Every other vulgar light.

Why, alas, and are you he?
    Be not yet those fancies changàd?
Dear, when you find change in me,
    Though from me you be estrangàd,
Let my change to ruin be.

Well, in absence this will die:
    Leave to see, and leave to wonder.
Absence sure will help, if I
    Can learn how myself to sunder
From what in my heart doth lie.

But time will these thoughts remove;
    Time doth work what no man knoweth.
Time doth as the subject prove:
    With time still the affection groweth
In the faithful turtle-dove.

What if you new beauties see?
    Will not they stir new affection?
I will think they pictures be
    (Image- like, of saint’s perfection)
Poorly counterfeiting thee.

But your reason’s purest light
    Bids you leave¹ such minds to nourish.
Dear, do reason no such spite!
    Never doth thy beauty flourish
More than in my reason’s sight.