Self-Love

by John Donne

　　And strives against it still,

　　Never shall my fancy move,

　　For he loves against his will;

　　Nor he which is all his own,

　　And cannot pleasure choose;

　　When I am caught he can be gone,

　　And when he list refuse;

　　Nor he that loves none but fair,

　　For such by all are sought;

　　Nor he that can for foul ones care,

　　For his judgement then is nought;

　　Nor he that hath wit, for he

　　Will make me his jest or slave;

　　Nor a fool when others —

　　He can neither —

　　Nor he that still his mistress prays,

　　For she is thrall'd therefore;

　　Nor he that pays, not, for he says

　　Within, she's worth no more.

　　Is there then no kind of men

　　Whom I may freely prove?

　　I will vent that humour then

　　In mine own self-love.