Astrophel and Stella: 64

No more, my deare, no more these counsels trie,O giue my passions leaue to run their race:Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace,Let folke orecharg'd with braine against me crie.Let clouds bedimme my face, breake in mine eye,Let me no steps but of lost labour trace:Let all the earth with scorne recount my case,But do not will me from my Loue to flie.I do not enuy Aristotles wit,Nor do aspire to Cæsars bleeding fame;Nor ought do care, though some aboue me sit:Nor hope, nor with another course to frame,But that which once may win thy cruell hart:Thou art my Wit, and thou my Vertue art.