Sonnet 63
No more my deere, no more these Counsels try,O give my passions leave to runne their race:Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace.Let Folke orecharg’d with braine against me cry,Let Cloudes be dimme, my face breake in my eye,Let me no steps but of lost labour try,Let all the earth in scorne recount my race;But doe not will me from my love to fly.I do not envie Aristotles wit,Nor do aspire to Cæsars bleeding fame:Nor ought to care though some above me sit;Nor hope nor with another course to frame:But that which once may winne thy cruell hart,Thou art my wit; and thou my vertue art.
Words in this poem
- dimme a.
- Not bright or distinct; wanting luminousness or clearness; obscure in luster or sound; dusky; darkish; obscure; indistinct; overcast; tarnished. [AS. dim; akin to OFries. dim, Icel. dimmr: cf. MHG. timmer, timber; of uncertain origin.]
- envie v. i.
- To vie; to emulate; to strive. [See Vie.]
- aspire v. t.
- To aspire to; to long for; to try to reach; to mount to.
- ought p. p.
- Was or were under obligation to pay; owed. [Orig. the preterit of the verb to owe. OE. oughte, aughte, ahte, AS. ahte. sq. root110. See Owe.]
- winne v. t.
- To gain by superiority in competition or contest; to obtain by victory over competitors or rivals; as, to win the prize in a gate; to win money; to win a battle, or to win a country. [OE. winnen, AS. winnan to strive, labor, fight, endure; akin to OFries. winna, OS. winnan, D. winnen to win, gain, G. gewinnen, OHG. winnan to strive, struggle,]
- cruell a.
- Disposed to give pain to others; willing or pleased to hurt, torment, or afflict; destitute of sympathetic kindness and pity; savage; inhuman; hard-hearted; merciless. [F. cruel, fr. L. crudelis, fr. crudus. See Crude.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Sonnet 63 is in the public domain. This text is taken from Sir P.S.: His Astrophel and Stella Wherein the excellence of sweete poesie is concluded, Project Gutenberg ebook #56375; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Philip Sidney, Sonnet 63, in Astrophel and Stella (1591), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #56375, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/sidney-astrophel/sonnet-63.html, id L04819.
Form and metre
Sonnet 63 is 14 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABBAAABACDCDEE. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.0 syllables.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABBAAABACDCDEE tryA · raceB · disgraceB · cryA · eyeA · tryA · raceB · flyA · witC · fameD · sitC · frameD · hartE · artE
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| No more my deere, no more these Counsels try, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| O give my passions leave to runne their race: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace. | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| Let Folke orecharg’d with braine against me cry, | 11 | ··········· |
| Let Cloudes be dimme, my face breake in my eye, | 10 | ·········· |
| Let me no steps but of lost labour try, | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Let all the earth in scorne recount my race; | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| But doe not will me from my love to fly. | 10 | ·········· |
| I do not envie Aristotles wit, | 10 | ···˘//˘·˘· |
| Nor do aspire to Cæsars bleeding fame: | 9 | ··˘/··/˘· |
| Nor ought to care though some above me sit; | 10 | ·········· |
| Nor hope nor with another course to frame: | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| But that which once may winne thy cruell hart, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Thou art my wit; and thou my vertue art. | 10 | ·········· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.