LVIII. Doubt there hath been—when, with his golden chain

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

DOUBT there hath been—when, with his golden chain,

The Orator so far men’s hearts doth bind;

That no pace else their guided steps can find,

But as he them more short or slack doth rein—

Whether with words, this sovereignty he gain;

Clothed with fine tropes, with strongest reasons lined:

Or else pronouncing grace, wherewith his mind

Prints his own lively form in rudest brain?

Now judge by this. In piercing phrases, late,

The anatomy of all my woes I wrote.

STELLA’s sweet breath the same to me did read.

O voice! O face! maugre my speeches’ might

Which wooed woe: most ravishing delight,

Even those sad words, even in sad me, did breed.