LXXXIX.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, difgrace me half so ill,
To fet a form upon defired change,
As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance ftrangle and look strange;
Be abfent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Left I, too much profane, should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.

For thee, against myself I'll vow debate,

For I muft ne'er love him whom thou doft hate.

XC.

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-lofs:

Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: fo fhall I taste

At first the very worft of fortune's might;

And other ftrains of woe, which now feem woe,

Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

XCI.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force;
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general beft.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' coft,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast :
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.

XCII.

But 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 fo bleffed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayft be false, and yet I know it not.

XCIII.

So fhall I live, fuppofing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place :
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history

Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles ftrange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree

That in thy face fweet love fhould ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy fweet virtue answer not thy show!