- Shakespeare. How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
660 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,
665 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;
670 And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
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