William Shakespeare

poems:

15

sonnet 139

O, call not me to justify the wrong that thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue; use power with power and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might is more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows her pretty looks have been mine enemies, and therefore from my face she turns my foes, that they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so; But since I am near slain, kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.

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