Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Sonnet XC (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 conquer'd 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 fortune's might, 
   And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
   Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

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