If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near, <br /> Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' <br /> And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; <br /> Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. <br /> 'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love, <br /> Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. <br /> In things of great receipt with ease we prove <br /> Among a number one is reckon'd none: <br /> Then in the number let me pass untold, <br /> Though in thy stores' account I one must be; <br /> For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold <br /> That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: <br /> Make but my name thy love, and love that still, <br /> And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-cxxxvi/
