The speaker hands his lover a list of charges: he’s failed to repay their affection, ignored the bonds tying him to them, wasted time on unfamiliar faces, and let himself be blown far away by any passing fancy. What begins as a confession quickly turns slippery. He dares the beloved to record every error, let just suspicion pile up, and fix him under a furious stare—but then pleads, Don’t shoot. The couplet reveals why: he claims his neglect and wandering were all an experiment to test the constancy and strength of the other person’s love. The mood is tense and self-justifying, shading into something cunning. There’s guilt here, yes, but it’s mixed with a defensive cleverness that feels manipulative. Reading it, you sense someone backpedaling, framing his own failings as a trial the beloved must pass. It leaves an uneasy feeling, as if the apology is a shield.
Sonnet 117: Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all — Summary
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all, Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise, accumulate; Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love.