prop-fr:texteContemporain
- 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 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 (fr)