| | 
 
 
  [показать]
 
 
   
 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.
 
 
   Читать далее
 
 
 
 
 
 
 | 
 |