For shame! Deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant if you wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with morderous 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 lodg'd 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.