Volta project, #149

Today’s sonnet:

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CXLIX

  Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,

  When I against myself with thee partake?

  Do I not think on thee, when I forgot

  Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?

  Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,

  On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon,

  Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend

  Revenge upon myself with present moan?

  What merit do I in my self respect,

  That is so proud thy service to despise,

  When all my best doth worship thy defect,

  Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?

    But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;

    Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

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The volta’s the but in the Shakespearean position.  More tomorrow (provided I live).