Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; <br />Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, <br />join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, <br />And do not drop in for an after-loss. <br />Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, <br />Come in the rearward of a conquered woe; <br />Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, <br />To linger out a purposed overthrow. <br />If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, <br />When other petty griefs have done their spite, <br />But in the onset come; so shall I taste <br />At first the very worst of fortune's might, <br /> And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, <br /> Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-90-then-hate-me-when-thou-wilt-if-ever-no/
