Sir Philip Sidney(1554–1586)
Sonnet 49
I on my horse, and Love on me, doth try
Our horsemanships, while by strange work I prove
A horseman to my horse, a horse to Love,
And now man's wrongs in me, poor beast, descry.discern
The reins wherewith my rider doth me tie
Are humbled thoughts, which bit of reverence move,
Curbed1 in with fear, but with gilt boss above
Of hope, which makes it seem fair to the eye.
The wand is will; thou, fancy, saddle art,whip
Girt fast by memory; and while I spur
My horse, he spurs with sharp desire my heart;
He sits me fast, however I do stir;
And now hath made me to his hand so right
That in the manage2 myself takes delight.