Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath ‘scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer’d woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
This sonnet continues directly from the previous one. It is a threnody of forthcoming woes which threaten to obliterate the poet entirely. Some doubt still remains as to the reality of the separation and loss. Has it taken place, is it a certainty over the next few days, has the loved one declared his intentions, or is it just a rumoured possibility that has been discussed in jest, or in earnest, in the privileged circle of the few initiates?
It echoes also sonnet 87, which has only recently oppressed us with the finality of separation – Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing. So that we feel ourselves to be speeding down an ever decreasing spiral of loss and wretchedness, as the beloved youth frees himself from the shackles of love and no longer wishes to continue the association.
Sonnet XC
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