Sonnet 40


  Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,
  What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
  No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,
  All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more:
  Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
  I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest,
  But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
  By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
  I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief
  Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
  And yet love knows it is a greater grief
  To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
    Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.


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