VIII. Woe! woe to me! On me, return the smart!

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

WOE! woe to me! On me, return the smart!

My burning tongue hath bred my mistress pain.

For oft, in pain, to PAIN, my painful heart,

With her due praise, did of my state complain.

I praised her eyes, whom never chance doth move;

Her breath, which makes a sour answer sweet;

Her milken breasts, the nurse of childlike love;

Her legs, O legs! Her aye well stepping feet:

PAIN heard her praise, and full of inward fire

(First sealing up my heart, as prey of his)

He flies to her; and boldened with desire,

Her face, this Age’s praise, the thief doth kiss!

O PAIN! I now recant the praise I gave,

And swear she is not worthy thee to have.