Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press...
Sonnet 140Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know; For if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee: Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be, That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. Listen to the recording!Free sample available for this sonnet! Click HERE
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I’d
suggest you start being as sensible as you are cruel, or else my silent
suffering might start finding words to express how badly I’m being treated. I
advise you to at least tell me you love me, even if you don’t. It’s like when
crotchety old men are on their deathbeds - they’ll only allow their doctors to tell
them good news of health.
If I went into a decline, I’d go bananas and might start saying all sorts of things about you. And you know what people are like: they’ll believe anything, including any mud I choose to sling.
So to stop me going mad and you getting dragged through the dirt, put on a good show even if you give your affections elsewhere.
If I went into a decline, I’d go bananas and might start saying all sorts of things about you. And you know what people are like: they’ll believe anything, including any mud I choose to sling.
So to stop me going mad and you getting dragged through the dirt, put on a good show even if you give your affections elsewhere.