Page 2036 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

90 IT

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 ’scaped this sorrow,

Come in the rearward of a conquered 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.