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 fulfill.
Will will fulfill 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 reckoned none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy store’s 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.
(Continuing from Sonnet 135) If it’s bothering your blind conscience that I keep pressing you for sex, just tell it that I’m
As in 135, Will the speaker addresses a woman who has another lover named Will and puns on the word will in the sense of “William,” “penis,” and “sexual desire.”Will, your lover—your conscience knows that Will is allowed in your bed. Out of charity, give in to my request at least that much. Will will fill your sweet love-treasure until it’s full. Yes, he’ll fill it full of penises, and mine will be one of them. With things that can hold a lot (like your vagina), it’s clear that one of anything is never enough. So among your vast number of lovers, let me be included without counting me. Consider me to be nothing, as long as you consider the nothing that I am to be sweet to you. Just love my name and love it always, and then you’ll love me, because my name is Will.