Shakespeare's Sonnet 140

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not pressMy tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;Lest sorrow lend me words, and words expressThe manner of my pity-wanting pain.If I might teach thee wit, better it were,Though not to love, yet love to tell me so,As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,No news but health from their physicians know.For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,And in my madness might speak ill of thee;Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.That I may not be so, nor thou belied,Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

Be as wise as you are cruel. Don’t push my silent patience too far with your contempt, or sorrow may give me words to describe the pain you show no pity for. If I could teach you good sense, it would be better, even if you don’t love me, to tell me that you do, just as irritable sick men near death hear nothing from their doctors except assurances of recovery.
For if I fell into despair, I would go mad, and in my madness I might speak badly of you. This world, which twists everything, has now become so bad that crazy listeners believe crazy slanderers. So that I don’t become one, and you aren’t slandered, keep your eyes fixed on me, even if your proud heart wanders.