Astrophel and Stella: 58

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Doubt there hath bene when with his golden chaine,The Oratour so farre mens harts doth bind,That no pace else their guided steps can find,But as he them more short or slack doth raine.Whether with words this soueraignty he gaine,Cloth'd with fine tropes, with strongest reasons lin'd,Or else pronouncing grace, wherewith his mindPrints his owne liuely forme in rudest braine:Now judge by this, in piercing phrases late,The anatomy of all my woes I wrate,Stellas sweet breath the same to me did reed.O voice, O face, maugre my speeches might,Which wooed wo, most rauishing delight,Euen those sad words, euen in sad me did breed.

© Sir Philip Sidney