Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound; fly! <br />See there that boy, that murthering boy I say, <br />Who like a thief, hid in dark bush doth lie, <br />Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey. <br /> <br />So tyrant he no fitter place could spy, <br />Nor so fair level in so secret stay, <br />As that sweet black which veils the heav'nly eye: <br />There himself with his shot he close doth lay. <br /> <br />Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did, <br />And stayed pleas'd with the prospect of the place, <br />While that black hue from me the bad guest hid: <br /> <br />But straight I saw motions of lightning grace, <br />And then descried the glist'ring of his dart: <br />But ere I could fly hence, it pierc'd my heart.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xx-fly-fly-my-friends/
