Astrophel and Stella: 33

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I might, vnhappie word, O me, I might,And then would not, or could not see my blisse:Till now wrapt in a most infernall night,I find how heau'nly day wretch I did misse.Hart rent thy selfe, thou doest thy selfe but rightNo louely Paris made thy Helen his:No force, no fraud, rob'd thee of thy delight,Nor fortune of thy fortune author is:But to my selfe my selfe did giue the blow,While too much wit (forsooth) so troubled me,That I respects for both our sakes must show:And yet could not by rising Morne foreseeHow faire a day was neare, O punisht eyes,That I had bene more foolish or more wise.

© Sir Philip Sidney