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Saturday Sonnet.

The trouble with losing your blog data is that you have to consider if you start poetry cycles again. In this case, I have not. I am continuing with the cycle, and in this Sydney makes a fundamental error. He lets his desire cloud his judgment. His friends counseled him: Stella was outside of his league, and she did indeed marry well, to a great Lord of England. (Her life was then embroiled in high politics). To remind you, Stella was a real person, and this is a portrait of her and her sister.

Astrophel and Stella, Sonnet 14

Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend,
upon whose breast a fiercer Gripe doth tire
Than did on him who first stale down the fire,
While Love on me doth all his quiver spend,

But with your rhubarb words ye must contend
To grieve me worse, in saying that Desire
Doth plunge my wel-form’d soul euen in the mire
Of sinfull thoughts, which do in ruin end?

If that be sinne which doth the manners frame,
Well staid with truth in word and faith of deede,
Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame;
If that be sin which in fixt hearts doth breed

A loathing of all loose unchastitie,
Then loue is sin, and let me sinfull be.

Sir Philip Sydney

Chastity is about being faithful to your vows. Love does not trump them.

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