So, now I have confeff'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort ftill:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free.
For thou art covetous and he is kind;
He learn'd but furety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as faft doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou ufurer, that put'st forth all to use,
And fue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lofe through my unkind abuse.
Him have I loft; thou haft both him and me:
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
Whoever hath her wish, thou haft thy Will,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy fweet 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 feem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The fea, 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 befeechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
If thy foul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind foul that I was thy Will,
And will, thy foul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-fuit, fweet, fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treafure 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 ftore's account I one must be ;
For nothing hold me, fo it please thee hold
That nothing me, a fomething fweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is Will.
Thou blind fool, Love, what doft 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 anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood haft thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon fo foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferred.
When my love fwears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me fome untutor'd 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 fides thus is fimple truth supprest.
But wherefore fays fhe not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
in love loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
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