Analysis of Sonnet LXIV: No More, My Dear
Sir Philip Sidney 1554 (Penshurst, Kent) – 1586 (Zutphen)
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.
Scheme | ABBAABBACDCDEE |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111101 1111011111 1101110101 111110111 111111011 111111111 1101110111 1111111111 111101001 1101110101 1111110111 1111010111 1111111101 1111011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 594 |
Words | 121 |
Sentences | 3 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
Lines Amount | 14 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 9 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 458 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 119 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 12, 2023
- 37 sec read
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"Sonnet LXIV: No More, My Dear" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/35347/sonnet-lxiv%3A-no-more%2C-my-dear>.
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