In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slanders with a bastard's shame:
For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black.
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandr'ring creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
Are we but all such babes, chasing and teething, little whines that circle about with little reasoned rhyme of why in any larger sense.
If there be truth to metaphor than you describe our Court, their Earls and Lords, the Ladies and the Dames. At its center is the Queen, and we as mad suitors circle about, currying favors, friendships, for no point or sake.
But I see now Will that you were both in and
without. With one foot in the game and one foot out, no way better to both watch
and play. Is that your genius? That while one Will loves, it is the other Will
who watches and wonders. Who cannot ever play, who as some lonely lost child
pleads for attention and for love. But because he rests in some other place and
plane can never fully touch. So he lifts Will's pen and whispering in his ear
tells him the secrets that leads to fame. Is that your secret Will? That there
is this child by the by, poor and crying through which all your riches flow.