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Philip Sidney - Sonnet 48: Soul`s Joy, Bend Not
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Soul`s joy, bend not those morning stars from me, 
Where Virtue is made strong by Beauty`s might, 
Where Love is chasteness, Pain doth learn delight, 
And Humbleness grows one with Majesty. 

Whatever may ensue, oh let me be 
Copartner of the riches of that sight: 
Let not mine eyes be hell-driv`n from that light: 
Oh look, oh shine, oh let me die and see. 

For though I oft myself of them bemoan, 
That though my heart their beamy darts be gone, 
Whose cureless wounds ev`n now most freshly bleed: 

Yet since my death-wound is already got, 
Dear killer, spare not thy sweet cruel shot: 
A kind of grace it is to kill with speed.
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