For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy self 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 with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thy self 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 thy self at least kind-hearted prove,
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 110: Alas, 'Tis True, I Have Gone Here And There
- Sonnet 12: When I Do Count The Clock That Tells The Time
- Sonnet 101: O Truant Muse, What Shall Be Thy Amends
- Sonnet 144: Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair
- Orpheus With His Lute Made Trees