Sonnet XCII

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