Sonnet 90 Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss: Ah, do not, when my heart hath scoped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquerd woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite But in the onset come; so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortunes might, And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
Posted on: Tue, 14 Oct 2014 12:30:55 +0000