William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Sonnet Cxxxvi - Poem by William Shakespeare

If thy soul cheque 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 stores' 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 lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'


Comments about Sonnet Cxxxvi by William Shakespeare

  • Rookie - 59 Points Brian Jani (4/26/2014 10:20:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out (Report) Reply

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  • Gold Star - 13,947 Points * Sunprincess * (11/18/2013 10:01:00 PM)

    beautifully written
    ~For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
    That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: ~ (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: love, sonnet



Poem Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2001



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