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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-11-09 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en english] | Inscrito en la biblioteca por irina serban 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 Then, if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 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.
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