Act I, Scene 40

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• Shakespeare. Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
  What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
  No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
  All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. 550
  Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
  I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
  But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
  By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
  I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 555
  Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
  And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
  To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. 560