Sonnet 92
But do thy worst to steal thyself
away
«William Shakespeare»
But do thy worst to steal thy self away,
For term of life thou
art assured mine,
And life no longer
than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon
that love of thine.
Then need I not to
fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of
them my life hath end,
I see, a better state
to me belongs
Than that, which on
thy humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me
with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on
thy revolt doth lie,
O what a happy title
do I find,
Happy to have thy
love, happy to die!
But what's so
blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false,
and yet I know it not.
No comments:
Post a Comment