Shakespeare's Sonnet 121

’Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d,When not to be receives reproach of being;And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem’dNot by our feeling, but by others’ seeing:For why should others’ false adulterate eyesGive salutation to my sportive blood?Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,Which in their wills count bad what I think good?No, I am that I am, and they that levelAt my abuses reckon up their own:I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown;Unless this general evil they maintain,All men are bad and in their badness reign.

It is better to be wicked than to be thought wicked when you are innocent but blamed anyway, and lose the pleasure you have a right to enjoy because others judge it wrong, though you do not feel it is.
Why should other people's lying, corrupt eyes judge my pleasure-loving nature? Or why should people with worse weaknesses than mine spy on my faults, deciding by their own desires that what I think is good is bad?
No, I am what I am, and those who target my faults are adding up their own. I may be honest even though they are crooked. My actions must not be judged by their filthy thoughts, unless they insist on this universal evil: that all people are bad, and their badness rules everything they do.