XCIIBut 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,When in the least of them my life hath end.I see a better state to me belongsThan that which on thy humour doth depend:Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.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.
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,When in the least of them my life hath end.I see a better state to me belongsThan that which on thy humour doth depend:Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.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.