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Poem by Philip Sidney


Sonnet 64. No More, My Dear


No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;
Oh, give my passions leave to run their race;
Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace;
Let folk o'ercharg'd with brain against me cry;
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye;
Let me no steps but of lost labour trace;
Let all the earth with scorn recount my case,
But do not will me from my love to fly.
I do not envy Aristotle's wit,
Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame;
Nor aught do care though some above me sit;
Nor hope nor wish another course to frame,
But that which once may win thy cruel heart:
Thou art my wit, and thou my virtue art. 



Philip Sidney


Philip Sidney's other poems:
  1. The Bargain
  2. Ring Out Your Bells
  3. Psalm 23
  4. Voices at the Window
  5. Philomela


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