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 case we prove Among a number one is reckon’d none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores’ 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 lovest me, for my name is “Will.”