Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Friday, September 30, 2005
By a strange coincidence I got an email from my brother asking how things were - as he had "not noticed any oblique references to temperament on the Blog of late" - on the same day that my Folio books caught up with me. This year's pack included a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets giving me an excuse obliquiley to suggest that sonnet 87 just about covers it.
at 9:21 am
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