Sonnet 92

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