Dejado en un pizarrón

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for a constant heart:
For these may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep, therefore, a true man's eye,
And love me still but know not why—
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever!