The Sonnets

He learned but surety-like to write for me,

Under that bond that him as fist doth bind.

The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,

Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use,

And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake,

So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, 

He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

135

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,

And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus,

More than enough am I that vex thee still,

To thy sweet will making addition thus.

Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious,

Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?

Shall will in others seem right gracious,

And in my will no fair acceptance shine?

The sea all water, yet receives rain still,

And in abundance addeth to his store,

So thou being rich in will add to thy will

One will of mine to make thy large will more.

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill,

Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'

136

If thy soul check thee that I come so near, 

Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will',

And will thy soul knows is admitted there,

Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil.

'Will', will fulfil the treasure of thy love,

Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one,

In things of great receipt with case we prove,

Among a number one is reckoned none.

Then in the number let me pass untold,

Though in thy store's account I one must be,

For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold,

That nothing me, a something sweet to thee.

Make but my name thy love, and love that still,

And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will.

137

Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,

That they behold and see not what they see?

They know what beauty is, see where it lies,

Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.

If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, 

Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,

Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,

Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?

Why should my heart think that a several plot,

Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?

Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not

To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,

And to this false plague are they now transferred.

138

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutored youth,

Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

Although she knows my days are past the best,

Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue,

On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:

But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 

And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O love's best habit is in seeming trust,

And age in love, loves not to have years told.

Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,

And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

139

O call not me to justify the wrong,

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart,

Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue,

Use power with power, and slay me not by art,

Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,

Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside,

What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might

Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide?

Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows,

Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,

And therefore from my face she turns my foes,

That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:

Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, 

Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.

140

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press

My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain:

Lest sorrow lend me words and words express,

The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

If I might teach thee wit better it were,

Though not to love, yet love to tell me so,

As testy sick men when their deaths be near,

No news but health from their physicians know.

For if I should despair I should grow mad,

And in my madness might speak ill of thee,

Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,

Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be so, nor thou belied,

Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

141

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, 

For they in thee a thousand errors note,

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,

Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.

Nor are mine cars with thy tongue's tune delighted,

Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,

Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited

To any sensual feast with thee alone:

But my five wits, nor my five senses can

Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,

Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,

Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:

Only my plague thus far I count my gain,

That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

142

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,

Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,

O but with mine, compare thou thine own state,

And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,

Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, 

That have profaned their scarlet ornaments,

And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,

Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.

Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those,