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LXII.
Sin
of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul
and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no
remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so
true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine
own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths
surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own
self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving
were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I
praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
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