Doubt there hath been, when with his golden chain <br />The Orator so far men's hearts doth bind, <br />That no place else their guided steps can find, <br />But as he them more short or slack doth rein, <br /> <br />Whether with words this sovereignty he gain, <br />Cloth'd with fine tropes, with strongest reasons lin'd, <br />Or else pronouncing grace, wherewith his mind <br />Prints his own lively form in rudest brain: <br /> <br />Now judge by this, in piercing phrases late, <br />Th'anatomy of all my woes I wrate; <br />Stella's sweet breath the same to me did read. <br /> <br />Oh voice, oh face! maugre my speech's might, <br />Which wooed woe, most ravishing delight <br />E'en those sad words, e'en in sad me did breed.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-58-doubt-there-hath-been/
