Sonnet
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns love and all lovers loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye.
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed, that hidden in thee lie !
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,10
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lov'd I view in thee
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
64
