If the number of your
‘Wills’ be fuller still than you
can count, count Love’s will.¹

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1. If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,— Sonnet CXXXVI – William Shakespeare ↩

Though full of ‘Will’ still
richer shall be your ‘Will’, if
you will mine distill. ¹

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1. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ‘Will,’— Sonnet CXXXV – William Shakespeare ↩

I’ve given him to
thy will and am mortgaged still —
Your bond binds us both. ¹

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1. So, now I have confess’d that he is thine,— Sonnet CXXXIV – William Shakespeare ↩

O, curse that heart that
Torments my dear friend and me.
Pray guard my heart.¹

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1. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan— Sonnet CXXXIII – William Shakespeare ↩

Your eyes, they pity
when they view my mourning morn.
You’re Venus reborn. ¹

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1. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,— Sonnet CXXXII – William Shakespeare ↩

Your face has no form
to make men groan, save me alone.
You’ve no black but deeds. ¹

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1. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,— Sonnet CXXXI – William Shakespeare ↩

Nothing like roses
are my mistress’s tresses —
fairest foul is she. ¹

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1. My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;— Sonnet CXXX – William Shakespeare ↩

There’s no reason in
lust’s pursuit, it’s had, then thrown —
‘tis a hell’s haven.¹

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1. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame— Sonnet CXXIX – William Shakespeare ↩

Would that you would play
me only — let your music
be sounded on me.¹

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1. In the old age black was not counted fair,— Sonnet CXXVIII – William Shakespeare ↩

My mistress bares her
brows dressed in false beauty’s black
raven — Mourn, O, morn. ¹

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1. In the old age black was not counted fair,— Sonnet CXXVII – William Shakespeare ↩

Eventually
Nature must give you over
to Time’s heavy sway.¹

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1. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power— Sonnet CXXVI – William Shakespeare ↩

Love’s oblation is
given without favor or ill
consideration.¹

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1. Were ‘t aught to me I bore the canopy, — Sonnet CXXV – William Shakespeare ↩

My Love is not Time’s
Ambassador nor fixed on
fickle politics.¹

© rl busséll 2019 – All rights reserved

1. If my dear love were but the child of state, — Sonnet CXXIV – William Shakespeare ↩