Sonnet 122

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain,

Full character’d with lasting memory,

Which shall above that idle rank remain

Beyond all date, even to eternity;

Or at the least, so long as brain and heart

Have faculty by nature to subsist;

Till each to razed oblivion yield his part

Of thee, thy record never can be miss’d.

That poor retention could not so much hold,

Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;

Therefore to give them from me was I bold,

To trust those tables that receive thee more.

To keep an adjunct to remember thee

Were to import forgetfulness in me.

Your gift, your diary, is tucked in my mind,

Stored up in my memory,

Where it will never be left behind,

Not for all of eternity,

Or at least not as long as my life lives,

My mind and heart intact.

Until up the ghost my body gives

Your presence will never be lacked.

You are my memory’s heritage,

Which is more than your book could retain,

So I wasn’t hesitant to give away every page,

Since my mind has more gifts to sustain.

I don’t need a book to remember you

When nothing in me has forgot of you.