|
| SONNET 72 |
| O, lest the world should task you to recite |
| What merit lived in me, that you should love |
| After my death, dear love, forget me quite, |
| For you in me can nothing worthy prove; |
| Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, |
| To do more for me than mine own desert, |
| And hang more praise upon deceased I |
| Than niggard truth would willingly impart: |
| O, lest your true love may seem false in this, |
| That you for love speak well of me untrue, |
| My name be buried where my body is, |
| And live no more to shame nor me nor you. |
| For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, |
| And so should you, to love things nothing worth. |
Sign up for the 
