Sonnets by William Shakespeare: CXL

Sonnet CXXXIX

Sonnet CXLI

CXL

 Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so;- As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know;- For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.   That I may not be so, nor thou belied,   Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. 

Contents

Sonnet CXXXIX

Sonnet CXLI