XXV. Who hath his fancy pleased

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

To the tune of Wilhemus van Nassau, &c.

WHO hath his fancy pleased,

With fruits of happy sight;

Let here his eyes be raised,

On Nature’s sweetest light.

A light, which doth dissever

And yet unite the eyes;

A light, which dying never,

Is cause the looker dies.

She never dies, but lasteth

In life of lover’s heart:

He ever dies that wasteth

In love his chiefest part.

Thus is her life still guarded

In never dying faith,

Thus is his death rewarded,

Since she lives in his death.

Look then and die! The pleasure

Doth answer well the pain.

Small loss of mortal treasure,

Who may immortal gain.

Immortal be her graces,

Immortal is her mind:

They fit for heavenly places,

This heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not,

Nor sense that grace descries:

Yet eyes; deprivèd be not,

From sight of her fair eyes.

Which as of inward glory

They are the outward seal;

So may they live still sorry,

Which die not in that weal.

But who hath fancies pleased

With fruits of happy sight;

Let here his eyes be raised

On Nature’s sweetest light!