Sonnet 139

O, call not me to justify the wrong

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;

Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue:

Use power with power, and slay me not by art.

Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,

Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:

What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might

Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide?

Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows

Her pretty looks have been my enemies;

And therefore from my face she turns my foes,

That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:

      Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,

      Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.