| 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. |
No comments:
Post a Comment