Classic Poem

Why Self conceit canst thou not brooke to see
Or heare, or read, or scarse once thinke vpon
The Parts which in another praisèd be?
Wouldst thou like God, only wise, be praisd alone?
And why so praisd wouldst be? for being blind
Seeing not thy selfe on whom alone thou lookst?
Or els for clawing thine owne itching Mind?
Or, which is worse, sith thou thy selfe mistookst?
If these (besides which, I know nought thou hast)
Be them for which thou wouldst be lawded so,
Thy Wits are gone, and thou thy selfe, att past,
For these do fleet, where staied Wit doth flo
Thou art but blind, yet scornst thou other guide:
But leadst thy selfe in Ways most hard to hit:
So, thou thy selfe still leadst thy selfe aside
Where Error robs thee of Grace, Art, and Wit
Yet can the witty hardly shake thee off
So hardly to their Headpeece thou dost cleaue:
That thou blindst, thou makst them see to scoff.
Yet hardly take, what they do freele giue.
Thou lou'st the Learnèd, sith they loue thee wel
Yea, makst them oft to dote for loue of thee:
Thou makst them ween their Art doth Art excell.
When they see not they deepe Art cannot see:
For, thou and enuy (ay Consociates)
Will not admitte that Arte her selfe should show
By other fingers; but the mynde inflates,
Which scornes to looke for highest Arte so lowe
Well, take thi pleasure, so thou me displease
Displease me, as tho loust me, sith thou art
A mental pleasant ticling damnd Disease:
And Ile loue that thou hatst, this louing part
Hang not aboute me, tempt me not too much:
For I, though fraile doe hold vp hangers on
While I can stand, if me in loue theie touch,
Though some such oft seeke my subuersion;
And rest assur'd if me thou wilt not Ieaue
He muse on nonght but thy hopes to deceiue.