Sonnet 40: Take All My Loves, My Love, Yea, Take Them All

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 thy self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self 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.