Sonnet XXXX
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past.
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow.
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night
And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe.
And moan th'expense of many a vanish'd sight:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan.
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.