Sonnet CXXXVI (136)

If thy soul cheque 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 lovest me, for my name is 'Will.