Sonnet CXLIX


Canst thou, O cruel, Say I love thee not,

When I against myself with thee partake ?

Do I not think on thee when I forgot

Am of myself, all tyrant for thy sake ?

Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ?

On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon ?

Nay, if thou lour’st on me, do I not spend

Revenge upon myself with present moan ?

What merit do I in myself respect

That is so proud thy service to despise,

When all my best doth worship thy defect,

Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ;

Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind.