Sonnet Xcii: Be Your Words Made

Sir Philip Sidney

Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware,
That you allow me them by so small rate?
Or do you cutted Spartans imitate?
Or do you mean my tender ears to spare,
That to my questions you so total are?
When I demand of Phnix Stella's state,
You say, forsooth, you left her well of late:
O God, think you that satisfies my care?
I would know whether she did sit or walk;
How cloth'd, how waited on; sigh'd she, or smil'd;
Whereof, with whom, how often did she talk;
With what pastime time's journey she beguiled;
If her lips deign'd to sweeten my poor name.
Say all; and all well said, still say the same. 

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xi: In Truth, Oh Love
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xii: Cupid, Because Thou
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xiii: Phoebus Was Judge
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xiv: Alas, Have I Not
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xix: On Cupid's Bow
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xli: Having This Day My Horse
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xv: You That Do Search
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xvi: In Nature Apt
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xvii: His Mother Dear Cupid
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xviii: With What Sharp Checks

Previous 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet X: Reason
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Viii: Love, Born In Greece
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vii: When Nature
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vi: Some Lovers Speak
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet V: It Is Most True
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Lxxxiv: Highway
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Lxxi: Who Will In Fairest Book
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Lxiv: No More, My Dear
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Ix: Queen Virtue's Court
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Iv: Virtue, Alas