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’ercharged with brain against me cry;
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye;
Let me no steps but of lost labor 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 Cæsar’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.

I suggest you click here to open the sonnet in a separate window, so that you can refer directly to it as you read on through the analysis.

Reading note: “cruel” in line 13 has two syllables.

This is another of Sidney’s quasi-Shakespearean hybridized Italian sonnets (like Sonnets 30 and 54, for example), in which the sestet is a quatrain and a couplet, and the customary strong break after line 11 is lacking. The Italian designation is still unmistakable, though, because of the single rhyme scheme for the whole octave, and the change from “innie” (ABBA) to “outie” (ABAB) structure in the third quatrain. And for further confirmation of 8-6 as the dominant structure, the poem is just two sentences long, eight and six lines respectively, with the fulcrum quite clearly between the two.

The sonnet is a gentle response to Stella’s repeated attempts to talk the speaker out of his passion for her. Since “try” in line 1 means “test out,” the speaker imagines (or observes) that she has taken many different approaches to the problem, six to be exact, sandwiched between lines 1 and 8, which together form the “thesis” of the octave. Since “give . . . leave” in line 2 is synonymous with “let,” the middle of the octave’s sandwich is comprised of six perfectly parallel appeals reviewing themes we have seen earlier in the sequence:  the dominance of passion over reason in the speaker (line 2); the loss of worldly status because of his infatuation (3); the desperate attempt of wiser friends to talk him out of it (4); his own depression and distraction (5); the futility of all his wooing efforts (6); and the general disapproval with which his sad “case” is met by all (7). All this he is willing to accept, and asks Stella to accept, so that he can remain constant to his ill-fated love.

This is his life’s “course,” and in the sestet he lists two alternate model courses—the wisdom of Aristotle and the military or political prowess of Caesar (neither of which is hopelessly far-fetched for the Renaissance man Sidney)—before generalizing that he is not so ambitious, nor wishes to be other than he is.

This idea continues into the final couplet, ending with the connection that Stella herself alone supplies, for the speaker, wisdom (“wit”) in lieu of Aristotle’s, and manliness (the root meaning of “virtue”) in lieu of Caesar’s.

Next time (weekend of December 26): Sonnet 65
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.

Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 18

With what sharp checks I in myself am shent,
When into Reason’s audit I do go:
And by just counts myself a bankrupt know
Of all those goods, which heaven to me hath lent:
Unable quite to pay even Nature’s rent,
Which unto it by birthright I do owe:
And which is worse, no good excuse can show,
But that my wealth I have most idly spent.
My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys,
My wit doth strive those passions to defend
Which for reward spoil it with vain annoys.
I see my course to lose myself doth bend:
I see and yet no greater sorrow take,
Than that I lose no more for Stella’s sake.

I suggest you click here to open the sonnet in a separate window, so that you can refer directly to it as you read on through the analysis.

Reading note: in line 5, “even” is one syllable (“e’en”), and unstressed.

Sonnet 18 is related to the sonnets mentioned at Sonnet 14 in picturing a situation (likely a reality for Sidney) in which “cooler heads” counsel the speaker against his hopeless passion for Stella, though in this case (as in Sonnet 10) it is personified Reason, rather than flesh-and-blood friends, who makes this case.  And here Reason is not only personified, but is specifically an auditor, come to check “the books” in a financial conceit similar to one Shakespeare uses in his Sonnet 4; indeed, Shakespeare almost seems to have Sidney’s sonnet in mind as he writes his first eight lines:

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?

The Shakespearean sonnet diverges greatly in its ultimate message, which is that the speaker’s young friend is wasting his gifts if he does not fall in love, but strictly on the topic of Nature’s “bounteous largesse” and the corresponding bankruptcy of the subject, the two sonnets are quite close.

The audit, needless to say, does not go well. The speaker is “shent” (“shend” being a good old Anglo-Saxon verb meaning to thoroughly disgrace) with sharp rebukes (“checks”) because he has spent or wasted all of his heavenly gifts, which would be chiefly the gifts that separate us from the beasts, such as soul and reason; these the speaker has abandoned.  Further (in the second quatrain), he is not even able to repay Nature’s “rent,” owed by “birthright.”  This has meaning on two quite distinct levels.  On a very basic, biological level, Nature gives us life at birth, and what we “owe” is simply to provide for ourselves the basic necessities to keep living; the speaker in his hopeless passion is barely able to do even this.*  But “Nature” and “birthright” for a Renaissance man in Sidney’s position also invoke the idea of the “natural” place we are born into, and what we “owe” in order to fulfill the demands of one’s pedigree.  The speaker, in his misplaced love, is “letting down the team” by not being all he was born to be.  The “wealth” he has squandered is of course everything but wealth in the conventional sense of the word; it is all the gifts bestowed on him by birth and Nature, including the “youth,” “knowledge,” and “wit” (i.e., wisdom) mentioned in the first half of the sestet. Those same lines (9-11), if we assume the “toys” brought forth by “knowledge” are these very sonnets, spell out the futile process of his poetry, so different from the hopeful one described in Sonnet 1. Now we see that he is left needing to “defend” the passions of the sonnets, with nothing positive offered by way of “reward.”

In short—as line 12 summarizes—his passion has put him on a path to self-destruction.  The charge is suicidal madness; how does the accused plead?  Like Nathan Hale, he regrets he has but one life to throw away in pursuit of his madness.

* Unlike some other modern editors, Duncan-Jones gives the second word of line 5 as “quit,” rather than “quite,” although her gloss (treating the word as an adverb) is then not satisfactory.  “Quite” makes easier sense to a modern ear—just an adverb modifying “unable”—but “quit,” an adjective meaning “freed from an obligation,” creates a subtle paradox: even though the debt we owe Nature costs us nothing at all, the speaker is unable to pay even that.  Think of this reading as: “Unable, quit, to pay even Nature’s rent.”

Next time (weekend of March 22): Sonnet 19

Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.