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71
SON. 90
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cros9,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath ’scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquerM woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To Unger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
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