Sonnet Lxiv: No More, My Dear

Sir Philip Sidney

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. 

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Lxxi: Who Will In Fairest Book
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Lxxxiv: Highway
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet V: It Is Most True
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vi: Some Lovers Speak
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vii: When Nature
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Viii: Love, Born In Greece
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet X: Reason
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xcii: Be Your Words Made
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xi: In Truth, Oh Love
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xii: Cupid, Because Thou

Previous 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Ix: Queen Virtue's Court
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Iv: Virtue, Alas
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Iii: With How Sad Steps
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Ii: Not At First Sight
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet I: Loving In Truth
• Sir Philip Sidney : Song To The Tune Of 'non Credo Gia Che Piu Infelice Amante.'
• Sir Philip Sidney : Song To The Tune Of 'basciami Vita Mia.'
• Sir Philip Sidney : Song From Arcadia
• Sir Philip Sidney : Song
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sleep