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.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 88: When Thou Shalt Be Disposed To Set Me Light
- Sonnet 97: How Like A Winter Hath My Absence Been
- Sonnet Xviii: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?
- Sonnet 33: Full Many A Glorious Morning Have I Seen
- Sonnet 96: Some Say Thy Fault Is Youth, Some Wantonness