XV. You that do search for every purling spring

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

YOU that do search for every purling spring

Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows;

And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows

Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring:

You that do dictionary’s method bring

Into your rhymes running in rattling rows;

You that poor PETRARCH’s long deceasèd woes,

With newborn sighs and denizened wit do sing:

You take wrong ways! Those far-fet helps be such

As do bewray a want of inward touch;

And sure at length, stolen goods do come to light.

But if (both for your love and skill) your name

You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame:

STELLA behold! and then begin to endite.