Shakespeare has a nice little argument with himself about when love it at it's most potent. Our story continues with Shakespeare still mistaking the poor doctor for the Earl Of Southampton. Sonnet 115Those lines that I before have writ do lie,Even those that said I could not love you dearer:Yet then my judgment knew no reason whyMy most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidentsCreep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny,Might I not then say, 'Now I love you best,'When I was certain o'er incertainty,Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?   Love is a babe, then might I not say so,   To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

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