Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Sound


Interface


Difficulty level


Accent



interface language

en

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie policy   |   Support   |   FAQ
1
register / login
Lyrkit

donate

5$

Lyrkit

donate

10$

Lyrkit

donate

20$

Lyrkit

And/Or support me in social. networks:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Rufus Wainwright

Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40)

 

Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40)

(album: Take All My Loves - 9 Shakespeare Sonnets - 2016)


[Rufus:]
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 thy self 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
(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
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief
Although thou steal thee all my poverty)

[Maruis de Vries:]
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 thy self 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

[Rufus:]
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes
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

done

Did you add all the unfamiliar words from this song?