My Muse may well grudge at my heau’nly joy,
      If still I force her in sad rimes to creepe:
      She oft hath drunke my teares, now hopes to enjoy
      Nectar of mirth, since I Ioues cup do keepe.
      Sonnets be not bound prentise to annoy:
      Trebles sing high, as well as bases deepe:
      Griefe but Loues winter liuerie is, the Boy
      Hath cheekes to smile, as well as eyes to weepe,
      Come then my Muse, shew thou height of delight
      In well rais’d notes, my pen the best it may
      Shall paint out joy, though but in black and white.
      Cease eager Muse, peace pen, for my sake stay,
      I giue you here my hand for truth of this,
      Wise silence is best musick vnto blisse.

      Sir Philip Sidney
      Astrophel and Stella: 70

      gave me the celestial and life


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