by John Donne

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.

Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, ed.
London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 81-82.

Caravaggio: Narcissus
Caravaggio: Narcissus.
Galleria Nazionale di Arte Antica, Rome
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