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. |
Sign up for the Mockingbird Newsletter