Sonnet X
For shame deny that thou bear’st 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 with
murderous 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.
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