My favorite shakespearean based poem

Hath thee seen thy painting, with thine own lying eyes
That shall hang upon an ominous wall and descend from thee skies
Thy picture shant portray thee, for it shows none but the raven
Evening arriveth all so lonely, with thine fairest truthful maiden

Shant I protest thy request, draw thine sword with no haste
Thy painting that drips upon my floor, is pending the arrival of good taste
Stripped of color but not morals, scared of trial but leaving thy violence
And then thine eyes look upon thy paint, leaveth faces drawing in silence

Thy painting that shall weep or breathe, perhaps it be wrong to desire lust
But then again it shant be the wall, but the bridge between both of us
Describeth thine bloody battle, but feel sorrow not for thy killing
For thine corpses doused in paint, ezpress thee pain for th'art willing

Once again we shall be lost, Staring into thine vanity
Or shant we be not double crossed, but serveth thy sickness insanity
For the last time shall we dance? Beneath thine paint for thee weep
Lastly days fade into sweet trance, rest together and forever we sleep