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 blamed, if thou thyself deceivest,
By 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 grief
To 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.
Just as a predator knows her prey so does this writer know her words, do not be deceived by mere lines and sentences but seek to read between the words, for this poetess knows her prose. 'As this woman thinketh, so is she', Mercie Me...rendition to Shakespeare.
22 May, 2015
Love Sonnet 40 : William Shakespeare
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