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 blam'd, if thou this self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robb'ry 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.