Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40) - Rufus Wainwright, Marius De Vries

Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40) - Rufus Wainwright, Marius De Vries

Альбом
Take All My Loves - 9 Shakespeare Sonnets
Год
2016
Язык
`Angļu`
Длительность
386320

Zemāk ir dziesmas vārdi Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40) , izpildītājs - Rufus Wainwright, Marius De Vries ar tulkojumu

Dziesmas vārdi " Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40) "

Oriģinālteksts ar tulkojumu

Take All My Loves (Sonnet 40)

Rufus Wainwright, Marius 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

(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)

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

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

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