William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

SO am I as the rich, whose blessed key

Can bring him to his sweet uplockèd treasure,

The which he will not every hour survey,

For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.

Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,

Since seldom coming, in the long year set,

Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,

Or captain jewels in the carcanet.

So is the time that keeps you, as my chest,

Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,

To make some special instant special blest,

By new unfolding his imprison’d pride.

Blessèd are you, whose worthiness gives scope,

Being had, to triumph, being lack’d, to hope.