20th December 2013

Sonnet 48

How carefull were you when you took your way,

Each trifle under truest barres to thrust,

That to your use it might un-used stay

From hands of your wife, in sure wards of trust?

But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,

Most worthy comfort, now my greatest griefe,

You best of deerest, and mine only care,

Art left  prey of every golddigga theefe.

Thee have I not lockt up in any chest,

Save where thou art not, (though I feel thou art),

Within the gentle closure of my brest,

From whence at pleasure thou maist come and part,

    And even thence thou wilt be fleec'd I feare,

    For youths proove thievish for a prize so deare.