William Shakespeare. 1564–1616

Sonnet XCII.

“But do thy worst to steal thyself away”

BUT do thy worst to steal thyself away  
For term of life thou art assured mine;  
And life no longer than thy love will stay,  
For it depends upon that love of thine.  
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,    5
When in the least of them my life hath end.  
I see a better state to me belongs  
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:  
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,  
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.   10
O! what a happy title do I find,  
Happy to have thy love, happy to die:  
  But what ’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot?  
  Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.