Sidney's Sonnet 47

Wow, it's been awhile sine I've been on this site.... school has been hectic lately.

I hate to return just to ask for help, but I'm going to (and my God, this spell check feature is amazing!!!)

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There is a part in Sidney's Sonnet 47 which I do not understand, if anyone is familiar with the sonnet, I would appreciate it you could help me out.

Here's the sonnet:

What, have I thus betrayed my liberty?
Can those black beams such burning marks engrave
In my free side, or am I born a slave,
Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?
Or want I sense to feel my misery,
Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have,
Who for long faith, though daily help I crave,
May get no alms, but scorn of beggary.
[virtue], awake! Beauty but beauty is;
I may, I must, I can, I will, I do
Leave following that which it is gain to miss.
Let her go! Soft, but here she comes! Goe to,
Unkind, I love you not! O me, that eye
Doth make my heart to give my tongue the lie!


It's the lines "Can those black beams such burning marks engave/In my free side, or am I born a slave,/whose neck becomes such yoke of tyrany?" that I am having trouble with - I don't understand exactly what he means in his metaphor.


Any help would be appreciated

My guess is that "Can those black beams such burning marks engrave / In my free side" means something to the effect of, "Is it possible that I was branded (like a slave) by her gaze?", following the old conceit that beams of light come out of the eyes. They are "black beams" in this case because Stella's eyes are black. Perhaps Sonnet 7 would shed some light on it (ha ha, I'm so clever):

When Nature made her chief worke, Stellas eyes,
In colour blacke why wrapt she beames so bright?
Would she in beamy blacke, like Painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mixt of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue deuise,
In obiect best to knitt and strength our sight;
Least, if no vaile these braue gleames did disguise,
They, sunlike, should more dazle then delight?
Or would she her miraculous power show,
That, whereas blacke seems Beauties contrary,
She euen in black doth make all beauties flow?
Both so, and thus, she, minding Loue should be
Plac'd euer there, gaue him this mourning weede
To honour all their deaths who for her bleed.

As for "or am I born a slave, / Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?", I think it will be pretty straightforward when you keep in mind the meaning of "become" in "Death Becomes Her".

I hope this helps.

The interrogative form indicate that he doesn't understand what is happening to him. Something is going wrong. It is confirmed by the adjective "black". Beams are known to light up and not to darken things. This deviation sets out that it is a hopeless love, which makes reality dim, by painfully burning his heart, so that he finally wonders whether he is not getting a slave, alluding to his lost freedom.

thank you both :)

Just to reinforce what the others already said, the poet is aware that he is enslaved to Stella in these lines and asks himself why. Is it because her eyes ("black beams" as bluevictim has already glossed at length) have marked him with the brand of slavery and thus turned him into a slave? Or was he born to be a slave and thus bearing the yolk of servitude to Stella becomes (is becoming /befitting to) him.

That's sort of repeating what's already been said, but thought I'd just give another yay to that reading.

Also, the branding is an allusion to Christ's side wound while on the Cross, so this seems to put the enslavement as sort of a voluntary submission, right?

As Il Penseroso wrote, it seems to be an allusion to the Crucifixion. The poet is suffering so much that he feels as if his flesh were burning. And the interrogative form points out a kind of voluntary submission mixed with a more general remark on fate, on destiny or perhaps a sort of christian necessitarism. That is, he believes that he has lost his will, and that he is overwhelmed by the power of love (as if it were divine love) to such an extent that he is getting a slave.

I wrote submission, but should have written sacrifice. To be in love with her entails a certain sacrifice to his freedom and lack of opportunity, say as an artist (read Bacon on Marriage). A historical context of the rising poet by occupation may also be hinted at here.