Astrophil and Stella
Sonnet 95
Yet sighs, dear sighs, indeed true friends you are,
That do not leave your best friend at the worst,
But, as you with my breast I oft have nursed,
So, grateful now, you wait upon my care.
Faint coward joy no longer tarry dare,
Seeing hope yield when this woe strake him first;
Delight exclaims he is for my fault cursed,
Though oft himself my mate in arms he swear;
Nay, sorrow comes with such main rage, that he
Kills his own children (tears) finding that they
By love were made apt to consort with me.
Only, true sighs, you do not go away:
Thank may you have for such a thankful part,
Thank-worthiest yet when you shall break my heart.
Sir Philip Sidney
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