Sonnet #40

Take all my luvs, my luv, yea take them all,
wot hast thou then more than thou hadst be4e?
No luv, my luv, th@ thou mayst true luv call,
All mine was thine, be4e thou hadst this more:
Then if 4 my luv, thou my luv receivest,
I cannot blame thee, 4 my luv thou usest,
bt yet b blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of wot thy self refusest.
I do 4give thy robbery gentle thief
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
& yet luv knows it is a gr8er grief
2 bear gr8er wrong, than hatez known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me wiv spites yet we must nt b foes.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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