The Sonnets

For shame! deny that thou bearʼst love to any,

Who for thy self art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belovʼd of many,

But that thou none lovʼst is most evident:

For thou art so possessʼd with murderous hate,

That ʼgainst thy self thou stickʼst 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 lodgʼd 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.