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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