Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against my self with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon my self with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind:
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 50: How Heavy Do I Journey On The Way
- Sonnet 95: How Sweet And Lovely Dost Thou Make The Shame
- Sonnet 154: The Little Love-God Lying Once Asleep
- Sonnet 140: Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel; Do Not Press
- Sonnet 66: Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry