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CXLII.
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my
sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine
compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it
merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those
lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet
ornaments
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as
mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom
thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in
thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to
pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost
hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
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