Sir Patrick Stewart determined towards studying the next six sonnets – together with 5 that are a part of the Darkish Girl sonnets from 127 to 154: 

Sonnet 66

Drained with all these, for restful dying I cry,

As to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,

And purest religion unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,

And maiden advantage rudely strumpeted,

And proper perfection wrongfully disgraced,

And power by limping sway disabled

And artwork made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly, doctor-like, controlling ability,

And easy fact miscalled simplicity,

And captive good attending captain in poor health:

Drained with all these, from these would I be gone,

Save that, to die, I go away my love alone.

Sonnet 131

Thou artwork as tyrannous, in order thou artwork,

As these whose beauties proudly make them merciless;

For effectively thou know’st to my pricey doting coronary heart

Thou artwork the fairest and most valuable jewel.

But, in good religion, some say that thee behold,

Thy face hath not the facility to make love groan;

To say they err I dare not be so daring,

Though I swear it to myself alone.

And to ensure that isn’t false I swear,

A thousand groans, however considering on thy face,

One on one other’s neck, do witness bear

Thy black is fairest in my judgment’s place.

In nothing artwork thou black save in thy deeds,

And thence this slander, as I feel, proceeds.

Sonnet 133

For that deep wound it offers my pal and me!

Is’t not sufficient to torture me alone,

However slave to slavery my candy’st pal have to be?

Me from myself thy merciless eye hath taken,

And my subsequent self thou tougher hast engrossed:

Of him, myself, and thee I’m forsaken;

A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed.

Jail my coronary heart in thy metal bosom’s ward,

However then my pal’s coronary heart let my poor coronary heart bail;

Whoe’er retains me, let my coronary heart be his guard;

Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:

And but thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,

Perforce am thine, and all that’s in me.

Sonnet 134

So now I’ve confessed that he’s thine,

And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,

Myself I’ll forfeit, in order that different mine

Thou wilt restore to be my consolation nonetheless:

However thou wilt not, nor he is not going to be free,

For thou artwork covetous, and he’s variety;

He realized however surety-like to write down for me,

Beneath that bond that him as quick doth bind.

The statute of thy magnificence thou wilt take,

Thou usurer, that put’st forth all to make use of,

And sue a pal got here debtor for my sake;

So him I lose by my unkind abuse.

Him have I misplaced; thou hast each him and me:

He pays the entire, and but am I not free.

Sonnet 135

Whoever hath her want, thou hast thy Will,

And Will in addition, and Will in over-plus;

Greater than sufficient am I that vexed thee nonetheless,

To thy candy will making addition thus.

Wilt thou, whose will is giant and spacious,

Not as soon as vouchsafe to cover my will in thine?

Shall will in others appear proper gracious,

And in my will no truthful acceptance shine?

The ocean, all water, but receives rain nonetheless,

And in abundance addeth to his retailer;

So thou, being wealthy in Will, add to thy Will

One will of mine, to make thy giant will extra.

Let no unkind, no truthful beseechers kill;

Suppose all however one, and me in that one Will.

Sonnet 136

If thy soul verify thee that I come so close to,

Swear to thy blind soul that I used to be thy Will,

And can, thy soul is aware of, is admitted there;

Up to now for love, my love-suit, candy, fulfil.

Will, will fulfil the treasure of thy love,

Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.

In issues of nice receipt with ease we show

Amongst a primary is reckoned none:

Then within the quantity let me go untold,

Although in thy retailer’s account I one have to be;

For nothing maintain me, so it please thee maintain

That nothing me, a one thing candy to thee:

Make however my title thy love, and love that also,

After which thou lovest me for my title is ‘Will’.

Sonnet 144

Two loves I’ve of consolation and despair,

Which like two spirits do counsel me nonetheless:

The higher angel is a person proper truthful,

The worser spirit a lady color’d in poor health.

To win me quickly to hell, my feminine evil,

Tempteth my higher angel from my aspect,

And would corrupt my saint to be a satan,

Wooing his purity along with her foul pleasure.

And whether or not that my angel be turned fiend,

Suspect I could, but indirectly inform;

However being each from me, each to every pal,

I suppose one angel in one other’s hell:

But this shall I ne’er know, however dwell doubtful,

Until my dangerous angel fireplace my good one out.