Sonnets by William Shakespeare: CXXXVI

Sonnet CXXXV

Sonnet CXXXVII

CXXXVI

 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 ease we prove Among a number one is reckon'd 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.' 

Contents

Sonnet CXXXV

Sonnet CXXXVII