Abstract
Critics have generally agreed that of all of Shakespeare's sonnets cvii offers the most hope for dating by internal evidence. It runs:Not mine own fears, nor the propehtic soulOf 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 timeMy 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 shall find thy monument,When tyrants crests and tombs of brass are spent.
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