XL
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 blam’d, if thou thyself deceivestBy 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 griefTo 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.