|Fill all thy bones with aches.|
|From the still-vexed Bermoothes.|
|Full fathom five thy father lies; |
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
|I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.|
|I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated |
To closeness and the bettering of my mind.
|Like one |
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie.
|My library |
Was dukedom large enough.
|The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.|
|What seest thou else|
In the dark backward and abysm of time?