Shakespeare's Sonnet 92

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,For term of life thou art assured mine;And life no longer than thy love will stay,For it depends upon that love of thine.Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,When in the least of them my life hath end.I see a better state to me belongsThan that which on thy humour doth depend:Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.O! what a happy title do I find,Happy to have thy love, happy to die!But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot?Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

But do your worst to take yourself away from me, for you are certainly mine as long as I live. My life will last no longer than your love, because it depends on that love of yours. So I need not fear the worst betrayals, since the least of them will end my life.
I see that my position is better than one that depends on your moods. You cannot torment me by changing your mind, since my life ends when you turn against me. What a happy right I have: happy to have your love, happy to die!
But what is so perfectly blessed and beautiful that it has no flaw to fear? You may be unfaithful without my knowing it.