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’er-press’d defense can bide?

Let me excuse thee: ‘Ah! my love well knows

Her pretty looks have been mine 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.

Don’t talk me into making light of the way

You obviously play me for a fool.

Speak with me candidly, directly say—

Don’t portray your power as lull.

Tell me your other lovers. And heart,

You must not look away.

Love, if you’re going to hurt,

Say with force, not art, what you say.

Let me forgive it. At least give me that.

I know that your beauty is well my enemy.

But no, my love acts like she hides what I hate,

Robbing me of defeat, cunningly.

Stop what you’re doing. This much I can’t take.

It’s not jealousy: it’s honesty for which I ache.