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For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,

Who for thy self art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,

But that thou none lov'st is most evident;

For thou art so possess'd with murtherous 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.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

In one of thine, from that which thou departest;

And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest,

Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.

Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;

Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:

If all were minded so, the times should cease

And threescore year would make the world away.

Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,

Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:

Look, whom she best endow'd she gave thee more,

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish;

She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby

Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.