Sonnet 117: Accuse Me Thus, That I Have Scanted All
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Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds And given to time your own dear purchased right, That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise accumulate, Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. |
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Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay, |
Make the following accusation or charge against me: that I have neglected all of those obligations or duties that are incumbent on me to repay or reward or compensate you, as you richly deserve.
The implication clearly is that you may rightly or justly accuse me of all these things I am about to mention, the only caveat then coming at the end with the defence in the closing couplet. 'Desert', as on several previous occasions refers to the qualities, also achievements, and the inherent characteristics of a person that are deserving of appreciation. Sonnet 17 speaks of "your most high deserts," Sonnets 49 and 72 of "mine own desert," and Sonnet 66 of "desert" generally. Shakespeare, here does not further specify what this desert is in his young man, but implied, certainly, is that he deserves Shakespeare's attention not only on account of what he may have done for Shakespeare, thus giving him a rightful expectation, even entitlement, to some form of recompense, but also because of his elevated status in society. It confirms our perception, shared almost universally by scholars, that Shakespeare's younger lover is a nobleman, and it also would confirm our view – shared by some but by no means all scholars – that this sonnet, like the previous one and the others in the Fair Youth section, are indeed written to, for, and about this same young lover. (You could be forgiven for thinking I somewhat labour this point, but I want to show how frequent and consistent the indications are in these sonnets that this is so, and how infrequent, so as not to say absent, by comparison are any indications that it isn't.) |
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Forgot upon your dearest love to call
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; |
The list of failings on my part that you may justifiably accuse me of continues: that I forgot to call upon your dearest love to which, as well as to whom, all my bonds of duty, responsibility, obligation, and commitment tie me every day.
'Your dearest love' here as so often can have two meanings and both may well be fully intended: a) Your love for me, your investment of emotion and generosity towards me, your affection for me; and b) You yourself who are, as many of these sonnets have expressed, my dearest, my best, my indeed as I have told you very recently in Sonnet 110 now only love. And this yields at least two possible meanings of 'to call upon', which similarly are almost doubtless deliberate: a) to rely on and return, answer, and thus repay your love; and b) to come to visit you, to see you. Of particular interest in these two lines also is the phrase "all bonds do tie me." Following directly, as it does, on the legal terminology of Sonnet 116 which speaks of a 'marriage of true minds' to which 'no impediments' may be 'admitted', it is certainly eye-catching that here Shakespeare speaks of bonds that tie him to his younger lover. It suggests, as Katherine Duncan-Jones in the Arden edition of The Sonnets points out, "that the speaker has received concrete favours from his friend, as well as being loved by him in the abstract," but beyond that it also at the very least invokes, as John Kerrigan in the Penguin edition puts it: "perhaps oaths sworn before God, regarded as legal obligations." In other words: marriage. As we discussed at length in our last episode, Shakespeare and his young man could not get legally married in their day, but that does not mean they could not now or at some point in the past have made vows or promises to each other. That said, as early as Sonnet 26 – and there in a moment of backtracking humility following an exuberant claim made on the young man in Sonnet 25 – Shakespeare tells him: Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, and while there Shakespeare had particular reason to position himself as subservient to his young man, it may also be the case here that Shakespeare simply sees himself as effectively 'bonded' to his lover purely on the basis of his, the young man's, status. For us it is perhaps not entirely easy to appreciate just how strong class distinction is in England at the time, and how language used by commoners in relation to nobility or let alone royalty, which to us sounds obsequious, even sycophantic, would then be considered quite normal and proper. |
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That I have frequent been with unknown minds
And given to time your own dear purchased right, |
You can further accuse me that I have associated with, or hung out, as we might say today, certainly spent time, but possibly also been familiar, as in intimate, with strangers, for which here read casual encounters, people who don't actually matter, with minds who are the opposite of what the two of us are: true; and that I have given or even frittered away that which by rights is yours: my precious quality time.
The notion of a 'dear purchased right' now very much goes beyond any obligation Shakespeare may feel towards his man on the basis of his status in society alone: it suggests that his younger lover has either metaphorically earned his right to have Shakespeare's love and attention by giving and thus expending on him the same, or possibly even that quite apart from this the young man has entered with Shakespeare into an at least in parts transactional relationship where financial support, patronage, or some gift has been extended which could technically amount to the equivalent of an actual 'purchase' of Shakespeare's time. Depending a bit on who the young man is, there is a strong likelihood of that having been the case at some point anyway, and if it is Henry Wriothesley, Third Earl of Southampton, then it is almost certain that such a patronage has been in place in the earlier years of their relationship. PRONUNCIATION: Note that given here is pronounced as one syllable: gi'en. |
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That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight. |
Accuse me that I have allowed myself to be carried into all directions, as far away from you as could be.
In a further echo of Sonnet 116, Shakespeare returns to his seafaring metaphor and now contrasts 'all bonds' above that tie him to his lover with 'all the winds' that blow his 'saucy bark' – as he called himself in Sonnet 80 – away from him. In other words, just as Sonnet 110 made clear: Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view. 'Should' here simply means 'would', there is no suggestion on Shakespeare's part that this should have happened or that this happening was in any way a good thing, as we might interpret 'should' today. ORIGINAL PRONUNCIATION: Note that in OP winds rhymes with minds above. |
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Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof surmise accumulate, |
Note down, or record in your list of charges against me both my wilfulness, for which here read my headstrong, knowing, and deliberate, even stubborn actions and my errors, meaning my faults and the by now positively admitted mistakes and transgressions of which we both know; and either on top of everything that can be proved against me or on the basis of what can be proved against me also accumulate or collect any faults that you may surmise or suspect I have committed.
'Surmise' is here generally read to be a noun, meaning 'conjecture' or 'suspicion' and Shakespeare now invites his lover to add this to his list of valid accusations. There is a subtle but important shift in Shakespeare's stance though, depending on whether we read the line as John Kerrigan does to mean "pile on top of what you can prove everything you suspect," or, as Katherine Duncan-Jones does "pile up conjectures (of my misdeeds) on the basis of what has been clearly demonstrated." The former allows for the lover's suspicions to be admitted whether there is any basis for them or not, purely on the grounds that there are proven transgressions, the latter requires that any suspicions be based in 'just proof', but both assume and accept that such proof exists and that the young man will have his own additional suspicions about Shakespeare's behaviour, which implicitly he here admits to being justified. Interestingly, if you like your nuances in language, the Quarto Edition here has a comma after 'surmise', which turns it back into a verb, much as we mostly use it today. The sentence then would still have two possible meanings, either: a) on top of the proof you have, also surmise and accumulate further charges against me, or, b) on the basis of the proof that have surmise and thus accumulate your case against me. None of the major editions though retain the comma after 'surmise' and so this, to the extent that it is put forward at all, is certainly a minority interpretation. |
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Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: |
Bring me within the firing range of your displeasure, but do not actually shoot at me in the hate that this conduct of mine has woken in you, whereby we should probably think of 'hate' here more in terms of contempt or, to use a sadly now neglected term, despect, for my behaviour, rather than outright hatred towards me, the way we might understand it today.
'Level' in this context is a term from archery, and 'being within level' means that something or indeed someone is within the range that can be reached with an arrow from where the shooter stands. The bow and arrow are usually associated with Cupid, who shoots to bring love to the person aimed at, but Shakespeare here speaks of 'your frown' which signals anger and disappointment, and indeed he speaks of 'hate', the proverbial opposite of love. In other words: do all of this, accuse me of all these things I have done wrong, compile your list of charges against me, even take aim at me, but do not actually hate me for it: |
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Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love. |
Because my defence in light of all of this is that in doing what I have done but shouldn't, and omitting to do what I should have done but didn't, I simply tried to test the constancy and integrity or general quality of your love.
ORIGINAL PRONUNCIATION: Note that in OP, much as in the previous sonnet, proved rhymes with loved in a short 'o' sound similar to our 'dove'. |
Sonnet 117 is the first of three distinct but related sonnets that all seek to excuse, or at the very least explain, Shakespeare's own infidelities and inconstancies, first confessed to his lover in Sonnet 109 and, most directly, in Sonnet 110. Here, our poet lists a whole raft of failings on his part in his conduct towards his young man, and positively invites him to level accusations to their end against him, only to then, with the closing couplet, claim that although such charges be justified in so much as all of this may well have been the case, he has with his actions merely been putting his lover's own fidelity and character to the test.
This for us oddly specious conclusion is surely the most striking and also most perplexing part of this poem. We would feel not merely entitled but really urged to wonder: is neglecting your lover and sleeping around with other people genuinely the best way to see how faithful and trustworthy they themselves are? And so one of the first questions this sonnet raises in tandem with this principal query is: are you being serious, Will, and if so, are we here today now missing something?
The tone of the sonnet certainly suggest both. It comes directly on the back of Sonnet 116 which seemed to encapsulate perfectly what makes a true love so and left no doubt over its own claim to veracity. And that the two poems are connected to each other also is fairly obvious: both sonnets end on essentially the same rhyme, which, as we heard in our conversation with Professor David Crystal about Original Pronunciation would have been a full or perfect rhyme on proved/loved and here prove/love in a short 'o' sound similar to our 'dove'.
Both poems use a seafaring metaphor which, although in itself and in principle a poetic commonplace at the time, notably references the sexually suggestive Sonnet 80, and both employ a formal language of law. And while Sonnet 116 makes its case for a 'marriage of true minds', Sonnet 117 invites a case against Shakespeare himself for being untrue. A case he is poised to defend by effectively holding up a mirror to his young man, of whom we know that he has not been faithful, because several episodes in this by now 117-sonnets long sequence have clearly said so.
So having spoken, in Sonnet 116, about this 'marriage of true minds' to which no 'impediments' may be 'admitted', Shakespeare here in fact directly continues the line of thought and lists a series of objections that could reasonably be brought to entering a marriage: if you stood in front of a congregation next to your beloved betrothed and the celebrant asked you to now name any reason why you two should not be married, you might be inclined to cite your partner's sexual escapades, their poor communication, and extended periods of absence as reasons for some doubt. But would they be impediments? Well, that depends somewhat on the nature of the relationship of course, but if you yourself had done exactly the same, and still loved your partner, then the person conducting your marriage, as well as the friends and family present to witness it, may well counsel: look, that is the way you conducted, and in a way through external circumstances were forced to conduct, your relationship, but that doesn't mean that the core of what you have is not strong and intact and, importantly, on a par: look forward now and go forth together.
We do, as ever, have to be careful with how much speculation and 'surmise' – to borrow Shakespeare's possible use of the word here – we allow ourselves to embark on, but let us imagine, for the sake of argument and to get a feel for the constellation, that here is our poet, William Shakespeare, and his younger, much wealthier, much more powerful lover, of whom we don't know who it is, certainly not for certain. What we know, if these sonnets can at all be believed, is that this relationship has lasted for several years now, that it has gone through its ups and downs, and that Shakespeare and his young man have frequently been forced to be apart. What we now also appear to learn is that – by the sounds of it more recently – Shakespeare has also been at times wilfully or at least voluntarily neglectful of and/or absent from his young lover.
Most recent though, so the sonnets suggest, Shakespeare and his younger man have come together again, and Shakespeare has not only for the first time openly confessed to his own infidelities – the young man's being long known about and therefore well established – but he has also in multiple ways assured his young man that he is the one, the only one who matters, his 'home of love', his 'rose', indeed "a god in love to whom I am confined," as he put it in Sonnet 110: the one with whom he sees, or wishes, himself to be in such a 'marriage of true minds'.
The young man – especially a young man of the status and temperament the sonnets portray – could be forgiven for asking at this juncture approximately: what is this exactly? How can you speak of 'true minds' when you have been untrue to me? To which this sonnet appears to reply: well, you have been untrue to me, and yet, we do still love each other, we do have something that belongs just to us, we are, as I once said, in my Sonnet now numbered 42, when you were having your affair with my mistress of all people, one. If you can forgive me my philandering, my faults, my frailties, I have long forgiven you yours: consider this but a proof of our love.
Interestingly it is not this poem, but the one that follows the group of three of which this is the first, Sonnet 120, that puts it exactly like that: it starts with the line "That you were once unkind befriends me now," and ends on a couplet that spells out what this sonnet here seems to set up as the actual argument of this short sequence within the sequence:
But that your trespass now becomes a fee
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
In other words: we're quits.
And looked upon in this context and within this arc within the arc that spans across the relationship of these two men, the sonnet suddenly makes a lot more sense, even to us.
There are two details that I have not to my knowledge been pointed out by anyone else and so I introduce them here with the prerequisite caution: as a stimulus, so to speak, for you to ponder, rather than as any kind of insight that I could assign more significance to than the fact, simply, that I notice them:
The first ist verbal. We have on one or two occasions noted how 'love' in Shakespeare means different things at different times and sometimes several things at once. He most flamboyantly demonstrates this with Sonnet 40:
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
We noted when talking about this sonnet that Shakespeare here uses the word 'love' to mean love itself, the emotion; to mean his lover, the young man, whom he addresses directly; to mean another love of his, specifically here his mistress; and to mean other people he might love or who might be lovers of his in general, in the plural.
Just a moment ago we identified a possible double meaning in 'your dearest love', and very recently, in Sonnet 114, we saw Shakespeare use 'your love' and wondered whether he was referring really only to 'your emotion' or whether he could not also mean by this 'the person you love', namely me. And of course he may deliberately mean both.
This, though less eye-catching, may also apply here: the first and obvious and as far as I can tell universally accepted reading of 'your love' in the closing line of this sonnet is 'your love for me'. But I wouldn't put it past Shakespeare to deliberately here also invite a secondary reading of 'the person you love', that is me. And then this conclusion becomes even more intriguing. It would then suggest that in doing these things, in being away from you and with other people, I strove to prove my own constancy and virtue. Which, as it happens, is precisely what Sonnet 110 says in so many words:
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
And so, perhaps, in answer to my own question above: yes, it looks like we are missing something when we read this – as when we read any of these sonnets – simplistically, two-dimensionally.
The other point that I have not seen discussed and that may or may not be of significance, but that strikes me as noteworthy is numerical. Sonnet 117 marks a century in the series. It is the one hundredth sonnet that speaks to or about the young man as Shakespeare's love. The first 17 sonnets do not do so. We've discussed this in great detail: they simply tell either this same young man or – to my mind far less likely but suggested as possible by some scholars – some other young man to get married and to have children so as to produce an heir. Sonnet 18 is the first one to address the recipient as a lover, and that makes Sonnet 117 Number 100 in the sequence that starts then.
We will talk about the significance of numerology in the collection in a dedicated episode, because it merits special attention, and it is also a somewhat fraught subject, because one finds oneself in grave danger of getting lost in all manner of wild speculation. But there is good evidence that whoever put together the 1609 Quarto Edition enjoyed numerical references or puns. The to us most obvious examples of this are Sonnet 12 which opens with the line "When I do count the clock that tells the time," which the clock obviously does over twelve hours, and Sonnet 60: "Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, | So do our minutes hasten to their end," of minutes there being, in the hour, patently sixty. When discussing Sonnet 108, we quoted Katherine Duncan-Jones, who in her Arden edition attributes a great deal of meaning to that number, because it happens to constitute the length of a Sidneian sequence. And here I do refer you to that episode for the detail, because it would go too far for me to recap on this now.
Suffice it to say that there may well be more to these sonnets than meets the eye, not just in the words and the lines and the rhythms and the rhymes, but also in the order in which they were assembled and therefore the numbering they were given.
And this just takes me back to something we have also by now said at least a couple of times: we are still learning how to decode a Renaissance series of sonnets. And so we need not beat ourselves up if we don't get this in one go, if something Shakespeare does does not make immediate sense to us, as the conclusion of this sonnet may not. We can be quite sure that quite a lot more thought has gone into these lines than today we can easily conceive...
This for us oddly specious conclusion is surely the most striking and also most perplexing part of this poem. We would feel not merely entitled but really urged to wonder: is neglecting your lover and sleeping around with other people genuinely the best way to see how faithful and trustworthy they themselves are? And so one of the first questions this sonnet raises in tandem with this principal query is: are you being serious, Will, and if so, are we here today now missing something?
The tone of the sonnet certainly suggest both. It comes directly on the back of Sonnet 116 which seemed to encapsulate perfectly what makes a true love so and left no doubt over its own claim to veracity. And that the two poems are connected to each other also is fairly obvious: both sonnets end on essentially the same rhyme, which, as we heard in our conversation with Professor David Crystal about Original Pronunciation would have been a full or perfect rhyme on proved/loved and here prove/love in a short 'o' sound similar to our 'dove'.
Both poems use a seafaring metaphor which, although in itself and in principle a poetic commonplace at the time, notably references the sexually suggestive Sonnet 80, and both employ a formal language of law. And while Sonnet 116 makes its case for a 'marriage of true minds', Sonnet 117 invites a case against Shakespeare himself for being untrue. A case he is poised to defend by effectively holding up a mirror to his young man, of whom we know that he has not been faithful, because several episodes in this by now 117-sonnets long sequence have clearly said so.
So having spoken, in Sonnet 116, about this 'marriage of true minds' to which no 'impediments' may be 'admitted', Shakespeare here in fact directly continues the line of thought and lists a series of objections that could reasonably be brought to entering a marriage: if you stood in front of a congregation next to your beloved betrothed and the celebrant asked you to now name any reason why you two should not be married, you might be inclined to cite your partner's sexual escapades, their poor communication, and extended periods of absence as reasons for some doubt. But would they be impediments? Well, that depends somewhat on the nature of the relationship of course, but if you yourself had done exactly the same, and still loved your partner, then the person conducting your marriage, as well as the friends and family present to witness it, may well counsel: look, that is the way you conducted, and in a way through external circumstances were forced to conduct, your relationship, but that doesn't mean that the core of what you have is not strong and intact and, importantly, on a par: look forward now and go forth together.
We do, as ever, have to be careful with how much speculation and 'surmise' – to borrow Shakespeare's possible use of the word here – we allow ourselves to embark on, but let us imagine, for the sake of argument and to get a feel for the constellation, that here is our poet, William Shakespeare, and his younger, much wealthier, much more powerful lover, of whom we don't know who it is, certainly not for certain. What we know, if these sonnets can at all be believed, is that this relationship has lasted for several years now, that it has gone through its ups and downs, and that Shakespeare and his young man have frequently been forced to be apart. What we now also appear to learn is that – by the sounds of it more recently – Shakespeare has also been at times wilfully or at least voluntarily neglectful of and/or absent from his young lover.
Most recent though, so the sonnets suggest, Shakespeare and his younger man have come together again, and Shakespeare has not only for the first time openly confessed to his own infidelities – the young man's being long known about and therefore well established – but he has also in multiple ways assured his young man that he is the one, the only one who matters, his 'home of love', his 'rose', indeed "a god in love to whom I am confined," as he put it in Sonnet 110: the one with whom he sees, or wishes, himself to be in such a 'marriage of true minds'.
The young man – especially a young man of the status and temperament the sonnets portray – could be forgiven for asking at this juncture approximately: what is this exactly? How can you speak of 'true minds' when you have been untrue to me? To which this sonnet appears to reply: well, you have been untrue to me, and yet, we do still love each other, we do have something that belongs just to us, we are, as I once said, in my Sonnet now numbered 42, when you were having your affair with my mistress of all people, one. If you can forgive me my philandering, my faults, my frailties, I have long forgiven you yours: consider this but a proof of our love.
Interestingly it is not this poem, but the one that follows the group of three of which this is the first, Sonnet 120, that puts it exactly like that: it starts with the line "That you were once unkind befriends me now," and ends on a couplet that spells out what this sonnet here seems to set up as the actual argument of this short sequence within the sequence:
But that your trespass now becomes a fee
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
In other words: we're quits.
And looked upon in this context and within this arc within the arc that spans across the relationship of these two men, the sonnet suddenly makes a lot more sense, even to us.
There are two details that I have not to my knowledge been pointed out by anyone else and so I introduce them here with the prerequisite caution: as a stimulus, so to speak, for you to ponder, rather than as any kind of insight that I could assign more significance to than the fact, simply, that I notice them:
The first ist verbal. We have on one or two occasions noted how 'love' in Shakespeare means different things at different times and sometimes several things at once. He most flamboyantly demonstrates this with Sonnet 40:
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
We noted when talking about this sonnet that Shakespeare here uses the word 'love' to mean love itself, the emotion; to mean his lover, the young man, whom he addresses directly; to mean another love of his, specifically here his mistress; and to mean other people he might love or who might be lovers of his in general, in the plural.
Just a moment ago we identified a possible double meaning in 'your dearest love', and very recently, in Sonnet 114, we saw Shakespeare use 'your love' and wondered whether he was referring really only to 'your emotion' or whether he could not also mean by this 'the person you love', namely me. And of course he may deliberately mean both.
This, though less eye-catching, may also apply here: the first and obvious and as far as I can tell universally accepted reading of 'your love' in the closing line of this sonnet is 'your love for me'. But I wouldn't put it past Shakespeare to deliberately here also invite a secondary reading of 'the person you love', that is me. And then this conclusion becomes even more intriguing. It would then suggest that in doing these things, in being away from you and with other people, I strove to prove my own constancy and virtue. Which, as it happens, is precisely what Sonnet 110 says in so many words:
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
And so, perhaps, in answer to my own question above: yes, it looks like we are missing something when we read this – as when we read any of these sonnets – simplistically, two-dimensionally.
The other point that I have not seen discussed and that may or may not be of significance, but that strikes me as noteworthy is numerical. Sonnet 117 marks a century in the series. It is the one hundredth sonnet that speaks to or about the young man as Shakespeare's love. The first 17 sonnets do not do so. We've discussed this in great detail: they simply tell either this same young man or – to my mind far less likely but suggested as possible by some scholars – some other young man to get married and to have children so as to produce an heir. Sonnet 18 is the first one to address the recipient as a lover, and that makes Sonnet 117 Number 100 in the sequence that starts then.
We will talk about the significance of numerology in the collection in a dedicated episode, because it merits special attention, and it is also a somewhat fraught subject, because one finds oneself in grave danger of getting lost in all manner of wild speculation. But there is good evidence that whoever put together the 1609 Quarto Edition enjoyed numerical references or puns. The to us most obvious examples of this are Sonnet 12 which opens with the line "When I do count the clock that tells the time," which the clock obviously does over twelve hours, and Sonnet 60: "Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, | So do our minutes hasten to their end," of minutes there being, in the hour, patently sixty. When discussing Sonnet 108, we quoted Katherine Duncan-Jones, who in her Arden edition attributes a great deal of meaning to that number, because it happens to constitute the length of a Sidneian sequence. And here I do refer you to that episode for the detail, because it would go too far for me to recap on this now.
Suffice it to say that there may well be more to these sonnets than meets the eye, not just in the words and the lines and the rhythms and the rhymes, but also in the order in which they were assembled and therefore the numbering they were given.
And this just takes me back to something we have also by now said at least a couple of times: we are still learning how to decode a Renaissance series of sonnets. And so we need not beat ourselves up if we don't get this in one go, if something Shakespeare does does not make immediate sense to us, as the conclusion of this sonnet may not. We can be quite sure that quite a lot more thought has gone into these lines than today we can easily conceive...
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If you spot a mistake or if you have any comments or suggestions, please use the contact page to get in touch.
To be kept informed of developments, please subscribe to the email list.
If you would like to donate, you can do so here. Thank you!