Canst
thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When
I against myself with thee partake?
Do
I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am
of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who
hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On
whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay,
if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge
upon myself with present moan?
What
merit do I in myself respect,
That
is so proud thy service to despise,
When
all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded
by the motion of thine eyes?
But,
love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those
that can see thou lovest, and I am blind
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