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 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered 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.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 133: Beshrew That Heart That Makes My Heart To Groan
- Sonnet 148: O Me! What Eyes Hath Love Put In My Head
- Sonnet 149: Canst Thou, O Cruel, Say I Love Thee Not
- Sonnet 50: How Heavy Do I Journey On The Way
- Sonnet 95: How Sweet And Lovely Dost Thou Make The Shame