Astrophil and Stella

Sonnet 58

Doubt there hath been when with his golden chain 
   The orator so far men's hearts doth bind, 
   That no pace else their guided steps can find 
But as he them more short or slack doth rain; 
Whether with words this sovereignty he gain, 
   Clothed with fine tropes, with strongest reasons lined, 
   Or else pronouncing grace, wherewith his mind 
Prints his own lively form in rudest brain. 
   Now judge by this: in piercing phrases late 
   The anatomy of all my woes I wrate; 
Stellas sweet breath the same to me did reed. 
   O voice, O face! maugre my speech's might, 
   Which wooed woe, most ravishing delight 
Even those sad words even in sad me did breed.  
Sir Philip Sidney

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