William Shakespeare, Sonnet lxxxvi
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
4
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
8
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, [*]
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
12
I was not sick of any fear from thence.
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
Notes
line 10: Steevens conjectures that this is an allusion to Dr Dee's pretended intercourse with a familiar spirit. [ Back to text ]
line 13: Fil'd -- gave the last polish. Ben Jonson, in his verses on Shakespeare, speaks of his "Well-torned and true-filed lines." [Modern editions prefer "filled".] [ Back to text ]
Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.