Sir Philip Sidney. "Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound, fly." Eleventh Song from "Astrophil and Stella."

Sir Philip Sidney.

Astrophel and Stella

Eleventh Song

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 changëd?
    Dear, when you find change in me,
    Though from me you be estrangëd,
    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 leave such minds to nourish.
    Dear, do reason no such spite;
    Never doth thy beauty flourish
    More than in my reason's sight.

But the wrongs love bears will make
Love at length leave undertaking.
    No, the more fools it do shake,
    In a gound of so firm making
    Deeper still they drive the stake.

Peace, I think that some give ear;
Come no more, lest I get anger.
    Bliss, I will my bliss forbear;
    Fearing, sweet, you to endanger;
    But my soul shall harbor there.

Well, begone, begone, I say,
Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you.
    Oh, unjust fortune's sway,
    Which can make me thus to leave you,
    And from louts to run away.

Source:
Poetry of the English Renaissance 1509-1660.
J. William Hebel and Hoyt H. Hudson, Eds.
New York: F. S. Crofts & Co., 1941. 118.

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