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O from what pow'r hast thou this pow'rful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway,
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill
That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.
  If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
  More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
Oh, what is the source of this mighty power you have, which controls my affections despite your inadequacies, making me disbelieve what my eyes truly see until I’m so turned around I swear that daylight isn’t bright? Where did you get this capacity to make bad things look good in you, to perform the most worthless actions so skillfully that I think your worst is better than anyone else’s best? Who taught you how to make me love you more, the more I hear and see good reasons to hate you? Oh, even though I love what other people despise, you shouldn’t despise my love the way other people do. Since your unworthiness made me love you, I’m the person who deserves your love.

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