Sonnet 135

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,

And will to boot, and will in overplus;

More than enough am I that vex thee still,

To thy sweet 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 seem right gracious,

And in my will no fair acceptance shine?

The sea, 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 beseechers kill;

Think all but one, and me in that one will.

Whatever you wish, you have your way,

Your will being always satisfied

Abundantly, to the full, with never any delay,

And almost no room for me inside.

Still, for my will, will you not make a space,

As open as you are for the rest?

Will you not show me the same grace

As you do when you make yourself blessed?

The ocean, oozing water, still does not reject rain,

But increases what it has all the more.

So you, willing pleasure, ought not accept pain,

But take my will, letting it pour.

Let no one say no to a well-meaning will—

It’s all one drive that all of us feel.