Sonnet 128: How oft when thou, my music, music play'st

1How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,

2Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds

3With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st

4The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

5Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,

6To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

7Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,

8At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!

9To be so tickled, they would change their state

10And situation with those dancing chips,

11O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

12Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.

13 Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

14 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.