Robert Wilson. Shakespeares Sonette 121
Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed Not by our feeling but by others seeing. For why should others false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own; I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts my deeds must
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