Sonnet 39

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,When thou art all the better part of me?What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee? 4Even for this let us divided live,And our dear love lose name of single one,That by this separation I may giveThat due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 8O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove,Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leaveTo entertain the time with thoughts of love,Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive, 12And that thou teachest how to make one twain,By praising him here who doth hence remain.

1 with manners: becomingly11 entertain: pass away13, 14 And that thou teachest . . . remain; cf. n.