No longer mourn for me when i am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that i am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it: for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let you love even with my love decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.
William Shakespeare - Sonnet 71
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PoetryPsychopaths know that the best way to exploit emphatic people is take advantage of our natural desire to help and care for others. They do this by orchestrating not one, but many, pity plays. They fabricate illness; they describe fake injuries; they...
