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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519346" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Astrophel and Stella: XV</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519346" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">You that do search for every purling spring<br> Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,<br> And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows<br> Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;<br> Ye that do dictionary's method bring<br> Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;<br> You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes<br> With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing:<br> You take wrong ways; those far-fet helps be such<br> As do bewray a want of inward touch,<br> And sure, at length stol'n goods do come to light.<br> But if, both for your love and skill, your name<br> You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,<br> Stella behold, and then begin to endite.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Philip+Sidney">Philip Sidney</a></strong></div>

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