Shakespeare's Sonnets: Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,What hast thou then more than thou had'st before?No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call;All mine was thine before thou had'st this more.Then if for my love thou my love receiv'st,I cannot blame thee for my love thou us'st,But yet be blam'd, if thou this self deceiv'stBy wilful taste of what thy self refus'st.I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,Although thou steal thee all my poverty;And yet love knows it is a greater griefTo 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.