Sonnet 142

Love is my sinne, and thy deare vertue hate,

Hate of my sinne, grounded on sinfull loving,

O but with mine, compare thou thine owne state,

And thou shalt finde it merrits not reproving.

Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,

That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments,

And seald false bonds of love as oft as mine,

Robd others beds revenues of their rents.

Be it lawfull I love thee as thou lov'st those

Whome thine eyes wooe as mine importune thee,

Roote pittie in thy heart that when it growes,

Thy pitty may deserve to pittied bee.

If thou doost seeke to have what thou doost hide,

By selfe example mai'st thou be denide.