Drei Shakespeare-Gesänge

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 blamed, 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.

Come unto these yellow sands,
[Then]1 take hands:
Curtsied when you have and kissed,
The wild waves [whist]2:
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the [burthen]3 bear.

Hark, hark!
Bow-wow.
The watch dogs bark;
Bow-wow.
Hark, hark!
I hear the strain of strutting Chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle dow.

Like as, to make our appetite more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge;
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge;
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding;
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd,
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd;
    But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
    Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.