Sonnet 30

When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought,

I sommon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lacke of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new waile my deare times waste:

Then can I drowne an eye (un-us'd to flow)

For precious friends hid in deaths dateless night,

And weepe a fresh loves long since cancel'd woe,

And mone the'expence of many a vannisht sight.

Then can I greeve at greevances fore-gon,

And heavily from woe to woe tell ore

The sad account of fore-bemoned mone,

Which I new pay as if not payd before.

But if the while I thinke on thee (deare friend)

All losses are restord, and sorrowes end.