Sonnet CXL (140) by William Shakespeare

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Sonnet CXL


 

 

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press


My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;


Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express


The manner of my pity-wanting pain.


If I might teach thee wit, better it were,


Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so;


As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,


No news but health from their physicians know;


For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,


And in my madness might speak ill of thee;


Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,


Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.


That I may not be so, nor thou belied,


Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

 

William Shakespeare

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