Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon,
Nay, if thou lour’st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind.
In plain English
How can you say I don't love you, when I'm literally working against my own interests to be with you? I'm so consumed by thoughts of you that I've lost myself entirely—a tyrant to my own sake, all for you.
I hate the people you hate, I fawn over whoever catches your favour, and when you frown at me, I turn that anger inward and punish myself with grief. I've stripped away any self-respect I had, because I worship your flaws as if your eyes commanded me to.
So go ahead and hate me—I finally understand what's happening. You love people who can actually see and appreciate you. I'm blind to what you really want, and that blindness is why I'm doomed.
