Mellenkahlee
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Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Zort from URL @ 2:27 PM Come, Sleepe! O Sleepe, the certaine knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balme of woe, The poor mans wealth, the prisoners release, Th' indifferent iudge betweene the high and low! With shield of proofe shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts Despaire at me doth throw. O make in me those ciuil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillowes, sweetest bed, A chamber deafe of noise and blind of light, A rosie garland and a weary hed: And if these things, as being thine in right, Moue not thy heauy grace, thou shalt in me, Liuelier then else-where, Stellaes image see. As good to write, as for to lie and grone. O Stella deare, how much thy powre hath wrought, That hast my mind (now of the basest) brought My still-kept course, while others sleepe, to mone! Alas, if from the height of Vertues throne Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a thought Vpon a wretch that long thy grace hath sought, Weigh then how I by thee am ouerthrowne, And then thinke thus: although thy beautie be Made manifest by such a victorie, Yet noble conquerours do wreckes auoid. Since then thou hast so farre subdued me That in my heart I offer still to thee, O do not let thy temple be destroyd! -~- Sir Philip Sidney
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