Лезли Крэбтри


Sonnet XL

		William Shakespeare

	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.