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.
SONNETS 147 - 148
SONNETS 149 -150
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her 'love,' for whose dear love I rise and fall
Point to pride, point to lust. But nowhere in thy wailing do I hear thy Self pointed Heavenward. Will, yes, I loved you once, but with ways that were wrong and unjust born of my own pain and suffering. Forgive me for that, but let me take your hand, if I could , and lead you to the way of the Lord, our Christ.
If not, be damned and fulfill thy mission in thy self-imprisoned hell, where words of genius mock and torment the poor, betrayed Will.
SONNETS 153 - 154