He that cannot choose but love, <br />And strives against it still, <br />Never shall my fancy move, <br />For he loves 'gainst his will; <br />Nor he which is all his own, <br />And can at pleasure choose, <br />When I am caught he can be gone, <br />And when he list refuse. <br />Nor he that loves none but fair, <br />For such by all are sought; <br />Nor he that can for foul ones care, <br />For his judgement then is nought; <br />Nor he that hath wit, for he <br />Will make me his jest or slave; <br />Nor a fool, for when others..., <br />He can neither....; <br />Nor he that still his Mistress pays, <br />For she is thralled therefore; <br />Nor he that pays not, for he says <br />Within She's worth no more. <br />Is there then no kind of men <br />Whom I may freely prove? <br />I will vent that humour then <br />In mine own self-love.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-love/
