William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].
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A request to his scornefull Love. [Sonnet LXXXVIII / Sonnet LXXXIX / Sonnet XC / Sonnet XCI]
When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorne,
Vpon thy side, against thy selfe Ile fight,
And prove thee vertuous, though thou art forsworne:
With mine owne weakenesse being best acquainted,
Vpon thy part I can set downe a story
Of faults conceald, wherein I am attainted:
That thou in loosing me, shall win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too,
Forbending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to my selfe I doe,
Doing thee vantage duble vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right, my selfe will beare all wrong.
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence,
Speake of my lamenesse, and I straight will hault:
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not (love) disgrace me halfe so ill,
To set a forme upon desired change,
-- --
As Ile my selfe disgrace, knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and looke strange:
Be absent from thy walkes and in my tongue,
Thy sweet belooved name no more shall dwell,
Least I (too much prophane) should do it wrong:
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against my selfe Ile vow debate,
For I must nere love him whom thou dost hate.
Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to crosse,
Ioyne with the spight of fortune, make me bow,
And doe not drop in for an after losse:
Ah doe not, when my heart hath scapt this sorrow,
Come in the rereward of a conquered woe,
Give not a windy night a rainie morrow,
To linger out a purposd overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, doe not leave me last,
When other pettie griefes have done their spight,
But in the onset come, so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortunes might.
And other straines of woe, which now seeme woe,
Compar'd with losse of thee, will not seeme so.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill:
Some in their Hawkes and hounds, some in their Horse.
And every hnmour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it findes a joy above the rest,
But these particulers are not my measure,
All these I better in one generall best.
Thy love is better then high birth to me,
Richer then wealth, prouder then garments cost,
-- --
Of more delight then Hawkes or Horses be:
And having thee, of all mens pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take,
All this away, and me most wretched make.
William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].
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