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Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopped with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
  'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
  Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
The sin of self-love controls everything I see, and my entire soul, and every part of me. There’s no way to get rid of this sin, it’s so deeply rooted in my heart. I think that no one’s face is as gracious as mine, no body so evenly proportioned, no one’s integrity of such high worth. I calculate my value such that I surpass everybody else in everything. But when my mirror shows me how I really look, beaten and cracked by age and the sun, I come to an opposite conclusion: For myself to love myself so much would be a sinful error. It’s you I’m praising when I praise myself, ornamenting my old age with the beauty of your youth.

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