Sonnet 92


  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.


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add Sonnet 92 to your library.

Return to the William Shakespeare library , or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet 93

© 2022