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Sonnet 92
1But do thy worst to steal thy self away,
2For term of life thou art assurèd mine,
3And life no longer than thy love will stay,
7I see a better state to me belongs
9Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
12Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
13    But what's so blessèd fair that fears no blot?
14    Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not.

Notes

4] it] my life. Back to Line
5] the worst of wrongs] possibly the disgrace that previous sonnets describe. Back to Line
6] the least of them] the beloved's loss of love for Shakespeare, least because it brings death so quickly that he experiences no suffering. Back to Line
8] humour] whim, inclination. Back to Line
10] my life on thy revolt doth lie] depends on, fails in consequence of, the beloved's rejection. Back to Line
11] title] entitlement. Back to Line