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Poetry

Saturday Sonnet.

I don’t transliterate Stella. It is elizabethan english, the difficulty is the variance in spelling: I am taking the text from Luminarium (as I do for Sunday) and that does not adjust the spelling for modern readers.

This is a Petrachian Sonnet: two quatrains and two repeated triplets. However, Stella, is the muse, though she hated it.

Stella and Astropel Fifteen.

You that do search for euery purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flowes,
And euery flower, not sweet perhaps, which growes
Neere thereabouts, into your poesie wring;

Ye that do dictionaries methode bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rowes;
You that poore Petrarchs long deceased woes
With new-borne sighes and denisen’d wit do sing;

You take wrong wayes; those far-fet helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward tuch,
And sure, at length stol’n goods doe come to light:

But if, both for your loue and skill, your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to indite.

Sir Philip Sydney

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