The complete sonnet may be found here.

In Sonnet 87, the poet declaims the reluctance of a lover to abandon his beloved. The speaker confronts the separation that must soon efface his sacred bond and releases his long-held, tenacious grasp upon the subject of his ardor, who appears to be longing for freedom. The speaker unwillingly dispatches his lover from the confines of his environs; the “fair youth” is free to peruse whatever might satisfy him—perhaps the embraces of a rival lover as the poet has intimated in previous sonnets.

The subject treats of a lover’s loss and love is the enveloping theme associated with sonnets; however, there is also within this tradition a propensity to treat the sonnet as a means of providing a clever description about love or the subversions of love, it being up to the wit and skill of the wordsmith to conjoin the most eagerly suited phrases. It is apparent that is exactly the kind of mastery Shakespeare desires to exhibit throughout this sonnet. Although at first glance, it would appear the poet expresses sorrow for love forlorn, a careful examination of Shakespeare’s selective language reveals a parting statement suffused with irony; acrid and bitter inclinations are in fact the true, impure emotions of the lover, who disguises them with an all-too-flattering appeal. Indeed, one may even view the sonnet as a final, spiteful jab at the unfaithful fair youth.

An initial reading of this poem leaves one stupefied with ambiguity. What, after all, is the cause of the separation? The first word establishes the subject the poet wishes to address. His intent would seem to indicate the presence of an elaborate and heartfelt “Farewell!” (1). What follows, however, is the outpouring of significantly more convoluted feelings. 

The structure of the proclamation traces the speaker’s argument for why the couple must part. First, the poet claims the lover is superior and therefore, the evasion is understandable. Then he states he is incomparably far from the fair youth’s good and virtuous bearing, but that perhaps the youth has not been made aware of this. Upon the third quatrain, the poet assumes the fair youth did not even know his own precious value, thus discrediting the earlier statement that bid him leave on the basis of acknowledged moral superiority. Finally, the poet concludes that independent of this error of judgement, he may be dispatched with. The unclarity on the true cause of separation is already cause for suspicion that the sonnet comprises a genuine expression of sorrow; after all, it appears the poet is struggling to decide which excuse he will dole next. Each measly justification is meant to sow guilt in the mind of the fair youth.

Beyond the argumentative stance, the diction of Sonnet 87 is also most elusive. Indeed, there is a point of distinction which immediately separates this poem from the other sonnets. That is, the nature of the rhyme scheme is peculiar, and unlike the abab cdcd efef gg structure used in all [mpst] other Shakespearian sonnets. Instead, after the fifth line, Shakespeare deploys a single near rhyme almost to the level of absurdity, persisting upon ending each one with the suffix “ing” up until the concluding couplet. It is an odd rhyme pattern, albeit, upon closer inspection, the words do indeed follow the customary abab cdcd efef gg scheme judging by the final syllable of each line. The effect of this word choice is subtle, but noteworthy: the aural repetition becomes desensitizing and deflating over the course of the sonnet. While the frequent enjambment escalates and tautens the impression of anxiety, the overused rhyme numbs the reader with an oblique sensation of bathos. Weakening his passionate grasp of the fair youth, the poet presents each reiteration as indicative of the severance predictably bound to occur. The presence of so many verbs in the present participle produces an uncanny sensation: the reader should feel discomforted, for it almost seems as if the poet’s anger is bubbling and swelling beneath his ornamentations. 

Shakespeare’s phrasing also causes a peculiar effect on the meter. He conforms to the traditional iambic pentameter, but the words at the end of each line end with an additional weak, unstressed syllable. Indeed, all lines but lines 2 and 4 have eleven syllables instead of the customary ten. Perhaps the shortness of these two lines could indicate the poet’s curt irony. By stating, “And like enough thou knowst thy estimate” (2), the poet recognizes that the fair youth probably thinks highly of himself. In other words, the poet appears to be alluding to a habit he’s observed in the fair youth, and the clear-cut nature of his statement does not make it a friendly one. It may be read as sardonic and backhanded, an accusation of the fair youth’s large pride. As for line 4, it is in keeping with the conceit of the poem, that is, the likening of the fair youth to the poet’s property: “My bonds in thee are all determinate”. This shorter line mirrors or echoes the short and rapidly expiring duration of the poet’s status as owner of the property. Here, “bonds” could refer to the poet’s own claim to authority, a past mutual agreement between “two or more persons”, or even, “a constraining force acting upon the mind” (OED), which bears sinister inferences as to the nature of this relationship. Using the word “determinate” implies the poet knows his relationship is “definitely bound or limited in time and extent”, but it can also mean “finally decided; expressing a conclusive, final decision” (OED). Naturally, this is reasonable, as the poet knows the fair youth’s love is diminishing yet he also takes the initiative to end the relationship himself. This is further evidence that the sardonic poet is jibing at the youth with subtlety.

Following the declarative, “Farewell!”, the poet claims, “thou art too dear for my possessing”. With this statement— “dear” then used to describe someone who was “glorious, noble, honorable, worthy” (OED)—comes the expectation that the poet will elaborate on the fair youth’s virtues or will at least enumerate the qualities that make him so precious. However, this expectation is thwarted; the poet only keeps complaining over the remaining lines. Thus, the implied tone of this first line may be sarcastic. The “value” and “esteem” of the fair youth is so great, the poet can bear it no longer. Shakespeare leaves no room for the reader to infer whether the addressee is indeed virtuous or not. In fact, we only hear the poet’s perspective of self-pity. It seems he is almost begging the lover to contradict his melancholic statements and implore him to stay. Elevated, extended metaphors are only designed to instigate compassion and shame from the fair youth.

Proceeding through each remaining line reveals additional choices of ambiguous words. The third line, “The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing”, begins the pattern of financial terminology assumed throughout the poem. Curiously, drawing attention to the word “charter”, the poet offers us various possible interpretations of its meaning. It is either “a written document delivered by the sovereign or legislature granting privileges to, or recognizing rights of, the people, or of certain classes or individuals” or it could also mean “granting pardon. Hence to have one’s charter = to receive pardon” (OED). This second definition is significant, for with its use the poet could be claiming to pardon the fair youth for his unfaithful conduct. Moreover, the poet could be granting this in anticipation of the fair youth’s parting. Therefore, Shakespeare cleverly assumes the moral high ground, forgiving his offender. A third possible meaning for charter, that is, “a written evidence, instrument, or contract executed between man and man” (OED), maintains the comparison of the fair youth to property in accordance with the sonnet’s conceit. 

Line 5 appears to delegate the power in the hands of the fair youth, asking: “For how do I hold thee but by thy granting”? But what is the reality at play here? The OED cites one possible, archaic definition of the word granting as, “to admit, confess, acknowledge. Now only in a more restricted use: To concede to an actual or hypothetical opponent to be used as a basis of argument”. Could the poet, with this disguised accusation, possibly be asking the youth to admit the guilt of unfaithfulness? Who can tell?

“And for that riches”, he continues to ask, “where is my deserving” (6)? Again, considering the previous statement, the question may be seen as entirely ironic. Does the poet in fact deserve the privilege of knowing the truth of what happened? “The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting” (7), in this case, is simply an affirmation of his blamelessness in the affair. “I did not deserve the gift of your betrayal”, the poet seems to say. Or perhaps, if the word “granting” is taken at face value, this line may still refer to the beauty of the lover, but in a mocking and sour tone, since the rest of the sonnet seems to exude this tone so bounteously. 

Shakespeare persists upon the deliberately uncomfortable object metaphor in line 8 (“And so my patent back again is swerving”), with “patent” meaning, “senses relating to a document conferring a right, privilege, etc.”, “Law. A document conferring some privilege, right, office, title, or property”, or figuratively, “A quality or tendency that is characteristic of someone in particular; a thing belonging to a particular person; a monopoly (in the weakened sense)” (OED). Not surprisingly, Shakespeare uses this idea of his ownership to again hint at the fair youth’s recreant deeds. It is as if his decision to monopolize upon the lover has turned on its head, or simply put, it is “swerving”. To swerve is to “deviate from (a path)”, “to turn away or be deflected from a (right) course of action”, and even, “to forsake, desert, be disloyal to (a person); also, to differ from, be discrepant from.” (OED). The connotation here is plain: the patent itself—or himself—is disloyal.

“Thy self thou gav’st” (9)—a deliberate pause ensues with the caesura, calling the reader to ponder these words, bringing forth the reveling memory of the love that once was. Once, the fair youth gave himself completely and purely; a brief respite to acknowledge this truth must take place. Repetition of “thy”, “thou”, and “thy (own worth then not knowing)” expresses a revival of the obsession for the addressee. Similar disbelief at the wondrous reality of the past enshrines the following line: “Or me,”—a caesura for contemplation that “I” was really the object of “your” love— “to whom thou gav’st it,” repeats the “gavst” in emphasis of former glories and pauses for breath again, before resuming the tragic subject, the “else mistaking, / So thy great gift” (9-10).

But the fair youth, upon giving himself to the poet, began to feel imprisoned. Quite literally, Shakespeare puns the word “misprision”, evoking the prison keeping the lover captive. “So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,” (11), misprision referring to, “Law. A wrongful act or omission; spec. a misdemeanor or failure of duty by a public official” and more generally, “the mistaking of one thing for another; a misunderstanding; a mistake” (OED). So, there is yet another layer to this word: the once great gift of love was corrupted by the “wrongful act” of the fair youth! Of course, it is only when he “Comes home again, on better judgement making” (12), that he is truly in his right mind. No, the love which existed could never be the work of sane intentions. Redundantly, here is another case of sarcasm. The poet reduces their love affair to a mere error of judgement, that is all.

“Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter” (13), as a dream “plays upon the vanity of (a person)”, “encourages or cheers (a person) with hopeful or pleasing representations, usually on insufficient grounds” (OED). The lover was the dream who tricked the naïve poet, who fed him with false expectations, who lied by representing him “too favorably”, exaggerating “the good points” (OED). Thus, nearing the end of the poem, one would expect a resolution to these tempestuous emotions in a neat conclusion, but that that is not what the poet gives. After all, the speaker is just now dawning upon the realization that he has woken up from a dream. He only implicitly releases the lover by acknowledging what he desires is now an error: “In sleep a king, but waking no such matter” (14). It is uncertain whether he still means to elicit pity by leaving the cadence unresolved, as it were.

When confronted with the reality of decaying feelings and suspicion of deceit, the poet reacts with a laudable imagination. He does not explode at the lover with anger for his treachery in a feeble display of perturbation; instead, he maintains his composure and administers a much more stinging venom with the mastery of subtle irony. Rather than present us with a merely performative and sentimental “farewell”, Shakespeare reveals the complex, baleful feelings of one who’s trust has been severely broken.