Astrophil and Stella
Fly, fly, my friends; I haue my death's wound, fly;
See there that boy, that murdering boy I say,
Who like a thief hid in dark bush doth lie,
Till bloody bullet get him wrongful pray.
So, tyrant he no fitter place could spy,
Nor so fair level in so secret stay,
As that sweet black which veils the heav'nly eye;
There with his shot himself he close doth lay.
Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did,
And stayed, pleased with the prospect of the place,
While that black hue from me the bad guest hid:
But straight I saw the motions of lightning grace,
And then descried the glistrings of his dart:
But ere I could flie thence, it pierc'd my heart.
Sir Philip Sidney
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