You that do search for every purling spring, Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your posy wring; You that do dictionaries’ method bring 5 Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows; You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woes With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing; You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such As do bewray a want of inward touch: 10 And sure at length stoln goods do come to light. But if (both for your love and skill) your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame, Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite. _Sir Philip Sidney._ XXVI _SONNET._ Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, The indifferent Judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 5 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw. Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light, 10 A rosy garland, and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see. _Sir Philip Sidney._ XXVII _SONNET._ To yield to those I cannot but disdain, Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts; It is the beauty of the better parts, With which I mind my fancies for to chain. Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain, 5 But only curlèd locks and wanton looks, Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks, Which may well take, but cannot well retain. He that began to yield to the outward grace, And then the treasures of the mind doth prove, 10 He who as ’twere was with the mask in love, What doth he think whenas he sees the face? No doubt being limed by the outward colours so, That inward worth would never let him go. _Earl of Stirling._ XXVIII _SONNET._