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| 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 thyself deceivest |
| By wilful taste of what thyself 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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