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| Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; | 1 |
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| What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? |
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| No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; |
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| All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. |
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| Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest, | 5 |
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| I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; |
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| But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest |
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| By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. |
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| I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, |
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| Although thou steal thee all my poverty: | 10 |
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| And yet, love knows it is a greater grief |
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| To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury. |
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 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, |
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| Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. |
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