Sonnet Cxxxix

William Shakespeare

     O, call not me to justify the wrong
     That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
     Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
     Use power with power and slay me not by art.
     Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,
     Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
     What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
     Is more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide?
     Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
     Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
     And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
     That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
     Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
     Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.

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