CHAPTER 31 - THOU LOVEST ME, FOR MY NAME IS 'WILL'
Buffy pulled off Spike's black pullover and replaced it with the pajamas from last night. She'd been in and out of clothes so many times that day; she'd lost count. She smiled to herself at the thought, and also at losing them again, still.
Spike had got the fire going satisfactorily once again and had sat down in front of the couch. He was leaning back, his eyes closed, when Buffy came into the room and took her place next to him.
He sat up slowly, and looked over at her, smiling.
"Changed again, I see," he half smirked.
Rolling her eyes, she said, "Still half naked, I see."
"Hey, your fault! What with all that pulling my clothes off..."
She jabbed him playfully in the ribs as his arm went around her.
They sat there for a while, watching the fire, when Buffy noticed the book she'd given Spike behind him on the couch, "Were you looking at it?" she asked.
"At what?"
"The Shakespeare Book," she said, picking it up.
"Yeah, for a couple of minutes, while you were in there, before..."
"You like it?"
"Yeah, it's great, has all his plays and poems," Spike said, taking it from her.
"Edna said maybe you'd read some to me," Buffy said.
"Did she now?" Spike asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
Buffy nodded.
"Okay then, what do you want to hear?"
"Oh Spike, I don't know. I'm not too well versed, ha-ha, I made a joke - well versed," she said, looking at him as he rolled his eyes, "in Shakespeare; why don't you just pick something out."
"Okay, I can do that, have some old favorites, back from when I attended Oxford," he said.
"Oxford? You attended Oxford? Didn't Clinton go to Oxford?" Buffy asked, amazed.
"Yeah, let any old wanker in these days. Liked 'im, but still - wanker!"
"Okay, here we go," Spike said, finding a page, "plays or sonnets, luv?"
"Whatever you want to read," Buffy said.
"Well, plays are mostly really long...maybe I'll look through those, read some excerpts, read some sonnets. Shakespeare had some really great ones, how 'bout some of those, luv?"
"Sure," Buffy said, not really caring as long as he was going to read to her, she didn't much care if it was the grocery list. "As much as I know about Shakespeare, might as well be," she thought.
"He's really, surprisingly easy to understand, once you get the rhythm of the speech; the cadence, and once you get over feeling like you can't understand it," he said, reading her mind.
"Okay, I'll give it a try, under one condition," she said.
"What's that, then?" Spike asked.
Buffy grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it on her lap and patted it, "You make yourself comfortable first, alright?"
Spike smiled at her, as he sighed happily, "Whatever you want, pet," he said, knowing that it didn't get much better than this.
The idea, desire had come to Buffy more than once over the past couple of days, and even weeks prior; back in Sunnydale when she'd sat next to him, of how lovely it would be to hold him on her lap, stroke his hair.
She sighed, happily, too, as he took his place on her lap. She didn't even understand why this was so gratifying, why it stood out as such fulfillment; a deep yearning of hers. But it did, and it felt as wonderful to her as when their lips and bodies had finally come together...it was more than intimacy, it was familial, comfort, contact, cozy...
"Buffy?"
"Huh?"
"You ready? You had a faraway look in your eyes," Spike said, looking at her questioningly.
She sighed again, as she brought her hand up to stroke his hair, run her hands through it.
"Feels good, pet," he said, smiling at her, his gentle Buffy.
"Umhmmm. Go ahead, read, Spike," she said, closing her eyes.
"Somethin' from Hamlet, then?"
...Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further...
He paused looking silently at more of the text, then read aloud:
...If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open...
Buffy snickered, thinking to herself, "Chaste treasure, open indeed; wide open!"
Spike ignored her.
...And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near...
Buffy kept her eyes shut, as Spike continued to read, stroking his hair extra when he read something very touching.
ROMEO & JULIET
...My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite...
...This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet...
.. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek...
Buffy touched Spike's cheek, smiling with eyes still shut.
MACBETH
...The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me: thou art so far before
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay...
... The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself...
...safe toward your love and honour...
... My plenteous joys...
...wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow...
... Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires:
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see...
OTHELLO TO DESDEMONA
...O my fair warrior!
It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have wakened death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate...
Spike stopped reading to look up at Buffy.
Noticing he'd stopped, she looked down at him, "Why'd you stop?"
"Want me to go on?" he asked.
"Yeah, please, I was kind of getting into it," she said, stroking his hair.
"Okay," he said, reaching up to put his hand to her cheek, "I'll read some of the sonnets."
SONNET 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies: Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' So should my papers yellow'd with their age Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage And stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme
SONNET 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
SONNET 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; Him in thy course untainted do allow For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
SONNET 20
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
SONNET 56
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. Let this sad interim like the ocean be* Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that, when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view; Else call it winter, which being full of care Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
SONNET 75
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; Now proud as an enjoyer and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, Now counting best to be with you alone, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight And by and by clean starved for a look; Possessing or pursuing no delight, Save what is had or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
SONNET 78
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing And heavy ignorance aloft to fly Have added feathers to the learned's wing And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine and born of thee: In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; But thou art all my art and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance.
SONNET 87
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
SONNET 107
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assured And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes: And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
SONNET 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
SONNET 129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame. Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
SONNET 154
The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
SONNET 135
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea all water, yet receives rain still And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will' One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will' more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
SONNET 136 *
If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckon'd none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores' account I one must be; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'
She laughed as he read the last ones to her, "I see that Shakespeare had somewhat of an ego, and a sense of humor!"
"Yeah, that he did, pet," Spike said, "Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will'," he said quoting the last line of the sonnet and looking up at her with soulful, blue eyes that held only love for her.
"I do love you, Will," Buffy said, softly, bending over to kiss him.
Spike put the book down, but as he reached up to bring her head towards him, his eye caught sight of something. He reached up and turned the necklace over.
"Hmmmm."
"What is it?" Buffy asked.
"Did you look at the back of the necklace?"
"No, should I have?"
"Maybe..."
"What is it?"
"Initials."
"Initials?"
"Yeah, etched right on the back," Spike answered.
"What do they say?"
"There's a W and an E."
"W and E...? Can't be Edna, can it? Wasn't her husband's name Lawrence?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah, Lawrence was his name," Spike answered, nodding.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she undid the necklace and took a look. There on each side of the back of the lovebirds were the initials.
She stopped, suddenly, and smiled.
Spike looked at her, then knew why she was smiling.
"Elizabeth and William?" he asked, amazed by the synchronicity of it all.
She nodded, "It's perfect, isn't it? Like Karma, or something. Elizabeth and William, what's the chance..."
He stopped her talking by grabbing her face and kissing her hard.
Still kissing her, he took the necklace from her and put it back around her neck.
He broke off the kiss, in order to sit up. He took the pillow off her lap, as he turned around to face her, slipping his legs underneath hers, which were out in front of her; pulled her forward, towards him, so she was now half on his lap, his arms around her.
She looked into his eyes and saw the man, all of the man who'd at times been concealed, but never totally gone; man, demon, monster, savior, protector, fighter, lover...she wanted them all; had to have them all.
Thanks to the Bard, himself, and to Mel, for suggesting Othello. Also, anyone who's read my first story, SEEING YOU will recognize that, once again, I've used Sonnet 36. Just can't help myself, I just love the idea of Spike's inner William quoting W.S. referring to himself in double entendre.
Buffy pulled off Spike's black pullover and replaced it with the pajamas from last night. She'd been in and out of clothes so many times that day; she'd lost count. She smiled to herself at the thought, and also at losing them again, still.
Spike had got the fire going satisfactorily once again and had sat down in front of the couch. He was leaning back, his eyes closed, when Buffy came into the room and took her place next to him.
He sat up slowly, and looked over at her, smiling.
"Changed again, I see," he half smirked.
Rolling her eyes, she said, "Still half naked, I see."
"Hey, your fault! What with all that pulling my clothes off..."
She jabbed him playfully in the ribs as his arm went around her.
They sat there for a while, watching the fire, when Buffy noticed the book she'd given Spike behind him on the couch, "Were you looking at it?" she asked.
"At what?"
"The Shakespeare Book," she said, picking it up.
"Yeah, for a couple of minutes, while you were in there, before..."
"You like it?"
"Yeah, it's great, has all his plays and poems," Spike said, taking it from her.
"Edna said maybe you'd read some to me," Buffy said.
"Did she now?" Spike asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
Buffy nodded.
"Okay then, what do you want to hear?"
"Oh Spike, I don't know. I'm not too well versed, ha-ha, I made a joke - well versed," she said, looking at him as he rolled his eyes, "in Shakespeare; why don't you just pick something out."
"Okay, I can do that, have some old favorites, back from when I attended Oxford," he said.
"Oxford? You attended Oxford? Didn't Clinton go to Oxford?" Buffy asked, amazed.
"Yeah, let any old wanker in these days. Liked 'im, but still - wanker!"
"Okay, here we go," Spike said, finding a page, "plays or sonnets, luv?"
"Whatever you want to read," Buffy said.
"Well, plays are mostly really long...maybe I'll look through those, read some excerpts, read some sonnets. Shakespeare had some really great ones, how 'bout some of those, luv?"
"Sure," Buffy said, not really caring as long as he was going to read to her, she didn't much care if it was the grocery list. "As much as I know about Shakespeare, might as well be," she thought.
"He's really, surprisingly easy to understand, once you get the rhythm of the speech; the cadence, and once you get over feeling like you can't understand it," he said, reading her mind.
"Okay, I'll give it a try, under one condition," she said.
"What's that, then?" Spike asked.
Buffy grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it on her lap and patted it, "You make yourself comfortable first, alright?"
Spike smiled at her, as he sighed happily, "Whatever you want, pet," he said, knowing that it didn't get much better than this.
The idea, desire had come to Buffy more than once over the past couple of days, and even weeks prior; back in Sunnydale when she'd sat next to him, of how lovely it would be to hold him on her lap, stroke his hair.
She sighed, happily, too, as he took his place on her lap. She didn't even understand why this was so gratifying, why it stood out as such fulfillment; a deep yearning of hers. But it did, and it felt as wonderful to her as when their lips and bodies had finally come together...it was more than intimacy, it was familial, comfort, contact, cozy...
"Buffy?"
"Huh?"
"You ready? You had a faraway look in your eyes," Spike said, looking at her questioningly.
She sighed again, as she brought her hand up to stroke his hair, run her hands through it.
"Feels good, pet," he said, smiling at her, his gentle Buffy.
"Umhmmm. Go ahead, read, Spike," she said, closing her eyes.
"Somethin' from Hamlet, then?"
...Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further...
He paused looking silently at more of the text, then read aloud:
...If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open...
Buffy snickered, thinking to herself, "Chaste treasure, open indeed; wide open!"
Spike ignored her.
...And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near...
Buffy kept her eyes shut, as Spike continued to read, stroking his hair extra when he read something very touching.
ROMEO & JULIET
...My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite...
...This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet...
.. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek...
Buffy touched Spike's cheek, smiling with eyes still shut.
MACBETH
...The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me: thou art so far before
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay...
... The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself...
...safe toward your love and honour...
... My plenteous joys...
...wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow...
... Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires:
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see...
OTHELLO TO DESDEMONA
...O my fair warrior!
It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have wakened death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate...
Spike stopped reading to look up at Buffy.
Noticing he'd stopped, she looked down at him, "Why'd you stop?"
"Want me to go on?" he asked.
"Yeah, please, I was kind of getting into it," she said, stroking his hair.
"Okay," he said, reaching up to put his hand to her cheek, "I'll read some of the sonnets."
SONNET 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies: Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' So should my papers yellow'd with their age Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage And stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme
SONNET 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
SONNET 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; Him in thy course untainted do allow For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
SONNET 20
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
SONNET 56
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. Let this sad interim like the ocean be* Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that, when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view; Else call it winter, which being full of care Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
SONNET 75
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; Now proud as an enjoyer and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, Now counting best to be with you alone, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight And by and by clean starved for a look; Possessing or pursuing no delight, Save what is had or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
SONNET 78
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing And heavy ignorance aloft to fly Have added feathers to the learned's wing And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine and born of thee: In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; But thou art all my art and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance.
SONNET 87
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
SONNET 107
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assured And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes: And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
SONNET 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
SONNET 129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame. Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
SONNET 154
The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
SONNET 135
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea all water, yet receives rain still And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will' One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will' more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
SONNET 136 *
If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckon'd none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores' account I one must be; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'
She laughed as he read the last ones to her, "I see that Shakespeare had somewhat of an ego, and a sense of humor!"
"Yeah, that he did, pet," Spike said, "Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will'," he said quoting the last line of the sonnet and looking up at her with soulful, blue eyes that held only love for her.
"I do love you, Will," Buffy said, softly, bending over to kiss him.
Spike put the book down, but as he reached up to bring her head towards him, his eye caught sight of something. He reached up and turned the necklace over.
"Hmmmm."
"What is it?" Buffy asked.
"Did you look at the back of the necklace?"
"No, should I have?"
"Maybe..."
"What is it?"
"Initials."
"Initials?"
"Yeah, etched right on the back," Spike answered.
"What do they say?"
"There's a W and an E."
"W and E...? Can't be Edna, can it? Wasn't her husband's name Lawrence?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah, Lawrence was his name," Spike answered, nodding.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she undid the necklace and took a look. There on each side of the back of the lovebirds were the initials.
She stopped, suddenly, and smiled.
Spike looked at her, then knew why she was smiling.
"Elizabeth and William?" he asked, amazed by the synchronicity of it all.
She nodded, "It's perfect, isn't it? Like Karma, or something. Elizabeth and William, what's the chance..."
He stopped her talking by grabbing her face and kissing her hard.
Still kissing her, he took the necklace from her and put it back around her neck.
He broke off the kiss, in order to sit up. He took the pillow off her lap, as he turned around to face her, slipping his legs underneath hers, which were out in front of her; pulled her forward, towards him, so she was now half on his lap, his arms around her.
She looked into his eyes and saw the man, all of the man who'd at times been concealed, but never totally gone; man, demon, monster, savior, protector, fighter, lover...she wanted them all; had to have them all.
Thanks to the Bard, himself, and to Mel, for suggesting Othello. Also, anyone who's read my first story, SEEING YOU will recognize that, once again, I've used Sonnet 36. Just can't help myself, I just love the idea of Spike's inner William quoting W.S. referring to himself in double entendre.