| Lyrics: | Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to
cross,
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 'scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a
conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger 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. |
