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XCII.
But
do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life
thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy
love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of
thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a
better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy
humour doth depend;
Thou canst not vex me with
inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt
doth lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy
to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so
blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false,
and yet I know it not.
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