XXVIII. No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

To the tune of a Neapolitan Song, which beginneth No, no, no, no

NO, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,

Although with cruel fire,

First thrown on my desire,

She sacks my rendered sprite.

For so fair a flame embraces

All the places

Where that heat of all heats springeth,

That it bringeth

To my dying heart some pleasure:

Since his treasure

Burneth bright in fairest light. No, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,

Although with cruel fire,

First blown on my desire,

She sacks my rendered sprite.

Since our lives be not immortal,

But to mortal

Fetters tied, do wait the hour

Of death’s power,

They have no cause to be sorry

Who with glory

End the way, where all men stay. No, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,

Although with cruel fire,

First thrown on my desire,

She sacks my rendered sprite.

No man doubts; whom beauty killeth,

Fair death feeleth;

And in whom fair death proceedeth,

Glory breedeth.

So that I, in her beams dying,

Glory trying;

Though in pain, cannot complain. No, no, no, no.