by William Shakespeare
For shame deny that thou bearst love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident,
Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident,
For thou art so possessed of murdr'ous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair should be thy chief desire,
O change thy thought that I may change my mind,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be as thy presence is--gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind hearted prove,
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
