Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest. <br />Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit. <br />If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd, <br />Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it. <br /> <br />The scepter use in some old Cato's breast; <br />Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit. <br />I do confess, pardon a fault confess'd, <br />My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit. <br /> <br />But if that needs thou wilt usurping be, <br />The little reason that is left in me, <br />And still th'effect of thy persuasions prove: <br /> <br />I swear, my heart such one shall show to thee <br />That shrines in flesh so true a deity, <br />That Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-iv-virtue-alas/
