O, lest the world should task you to recite...
Sonnet 72O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart: O, lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth. |
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(Continuing on theme of last sonnet)
So that you’re not forced to make stuff up to defend me when people challenge you to explain why you’d want to mourn me when I’m gone, forget all about me. I wouldn’t want to make you fib for me, so let my name rot with my body so that it doesn’t bring any more
disgrace to either me or you. I’m ashamed of my work, and you should be ashamed too, to love something as worthless as me.