John Donne: Self-Love


He that cannot choose but love, 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.