sonnet

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 ornamentsAnd 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 thoseWhom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:Root pity in thy heart, that when it growsThy pity may deserve to pitied be.If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,By self-example mayst thou be denied!