Sonnet Xl

William Shakespeare

     Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
     What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
     No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
     All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
     Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
     I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
     But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
     By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
     I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
     Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
     And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
     To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
     Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
     Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

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