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William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare: Poems.  1914.

Sonnet XCII.

“But do thy worst to steal thyself away”


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,         5
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.  10
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. 


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