Sonnet 90
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever,
now
«William Shakespeare»
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 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward
of a conquered 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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