Astrophil and Stella
Sonnet 64
No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;
O give my passions leave to run their race;
Let fortune lay on me her worst disgrace;
Let folk o'e charg'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 ought 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.
Sir Philip Sidney
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