CXLII. Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
        
          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 profan'd their scarlet ornaments
          And 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 lov'st those
          Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
          Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
          Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
          		 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
          		 By self- example mayst thou be denied!