But do thy worst to steal thyself
away,
For term of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy love will
stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of
wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath
end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth
depend;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant
mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth
lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so blessed-fair that fears
no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it
not.
View all
Shakespeare's Sonnets:
