SONNET 90 CROSS: Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might;
   And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
   Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.


SONNET INDEX


Mnemonic Image 

CROSS

Memory Passage 

The CROSS is dragged behind the pale HORSE for my TERM OF LIFE because I tasted EVE'S APPLE and now have the POWER TO HURT like the CANKER IN THE FRAGRANT ROSE which is shivering under the FINGER OF THE THRONED QUEEN who asks me what FREEZINGS HAVE I FELT now that HEAVY SATURN has condemned the FORWARD VIOLET.

Couplet Imagery

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
   Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.

Woe is the word here. Echoed heavily in Q2: sorrow, woe, morrow, overthrow. Strains groans out of bent and bow in Q1. The language itself straining, being bent, made to bow, under the possibility of loss of love. The negation of all other sorrow and suffering in the presence of this loss. This one wound is so grievous, the pain from all the other cuts is diminished. 

Introductory

The immediate sense of the sonnet follows out of the preceding sonnet:

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
   For thee, against my self I'll vow debate,
   For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

You sense the Poet stinging himself with that last line of self-hatred, taking a deep breath, then proceeding straight away to this sonnet. 

Q1:

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:

Riding off of the hate from sonnet 89, the "then hate me" burns off the page, spit out of the Poet's mouth. I read an angry resignation in the tone, something of the masochist, if you seek to inflict pain, if ever you think you might be so inclined, do not wait, do it now.

And in L2, there is an unelaborated subtext: things are already bad, I've hit rock-bottom, go ahead an pile on while I am here. Evidently, bending deeds to cross was a common enough phrase with no Christian resonance. But I can not help but read it as the Poet being crucified for his sins, bent upon the cross. Just a personal mnemonic image.

With L3, the image of the Poet in the hole, carrying the cross, the weight, join with the spite of fortune, and the invective: make me bow. Pile on your hatred, bending me over, making me bow. Now now now. Do not delay, wait, linger, the Poet wants all the pain at once. He knows he will endure, but that he must pass through this.

The rest of the sonnet emphasizes this.

Q2:

Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.

With a sense of the day after, that the Poet has endured the Dark Night of the Soul, escaped.

Of course, there is also a graphic mnemonic reading for me: do not, says the Poet, after finally having come to terms with losing you, knowing he will no longer have loving sex, do not come around again through the rearward to linger out your overthrow. There is no more love, the Poet knows he is hated, but the Young Man continues to make the Poet submit to anal sex, humiliating him. The windy night is the night of a gassy degraded fucking and the rainy tomorrow is his leaking ass.


Q3:

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might;

Graphic mnemonic interpretation: in the onset cum in my mouth, don't fuck me in the ass, so I shall then taste the worst of fortune's might.

Couplet:

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
   Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.


Woe woe woe moaning though the sonnet as the Poet is hate-fucked by the Young Man.