Take All My Love (Sonnet 40)
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Take home, my loves, my love, yea take
Them up, For hast thou them, my love?
Thou hast before
Nor love, my love, that thou may'st rue for sure
A love who thou before thou had bestow'd
Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame
Thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd if thou thy
Self deceivest, By wilful taste of what thy self refus'st
I do forgive thy robbery, gentleman, Although thou steal'th
In all my poverty; And yet love knows it is a greater
Wrong 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