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