Sonnet 40
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 this 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 greater wrong, than hate’s known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
November 18th, 2007 at 10:50 am
Hello there,
I’m from Colombia and I was looking for some inspiration to make an illustration about Shakespeare’s Sonnet 40… and I went directly to the podcast you made. It has helped me a lot to figure out what I should do with the sonnet, and specially, to take it much more easier.
Keep on the good work! :)