But do thy worst to steal thyself away...
Sonnet 92But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine, And life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine. Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, When in the least of them my life hath end. I see a better state to me belongs Than that which on thy humour doth depend; Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. O, what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. |
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(Continuing from last sonnet)
Just you try to sneak away from me. You’re guaranteed to me for the duration of my life, because as my life is dependent on your love it won’t last any longer if you take your love away. That means I don’t need to be scared of the worst-case-scenario, seeing as I’ll die
instantly if it happens. I’m out of the reach of the vagaries of your whims: you can’t make me fret about whether you’re faithful of not seeing as my existence hinges on you constancy. What a great state to be in: I’m happy to enjoy your love, and happy to die if you take it away!
But even the loveliest things have faults… you might be unfaithful without me knowing it.