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| SONNET 48 |
| How careful was I, when I took my way, |
| Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, |
| That to my use it might unused stay |
| From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! |
| But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, |
| Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief, |
| Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, |
| Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. |
| Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, |
| Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, |
| Within the gentle closure of my breast, |
| From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; |
| And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear, |
| For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. |
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