Sonnet 136

If thy soul check 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 lov’st me, for my name is will.

If your spirit is shy about my coming near,

Assure it that I was your will.

For the spirit knows will, knows your desire.

Put in a good word for my will.

It’s will that will fulfill the core of your love,

The deepest, innermost part.

With your will below, and my will above,

And my will just the start,

I’ll slide in easy, the first among many—

One, nothing more, just a drop

In a reservoir. If it pleases you, please me

Till we move on—not till we stop.

I’ll be anonymous, synonymous with your will,

Doubling passion, enlarging skill.