Of Noble Sidneys birth; when such benign,Such more than-mortal making stars did shine;That there they cannot but for ever proveThe monument and pledge of humble Love:His humble Love, whose hope shall ne'r rise higherThan for a pardon that he dares admire.To my Lord of Leicester.NOt that thy Trees at Pens-hurst groanOppressed with their timely load,And seem to make their silent moan,That their great Lord is now abroad:They to delight his tast or eye,Would spend themselves in fruit, and dye.Not that thy harmless Deer repine,And think themselves unjustly slainBy any other hand than thine,Whose Arrows they would gladly stain:0