CXVII



Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all,

Wherein I should your great deserts repay,

Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 

Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;

That I have frequent been with unknown minds,

And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right;

That I have hoisted sail to all the winds

Which should transport me farthest from your sight.

Book both my wilfulness and errors down,

And on just proof surmise, accumulate;

Bring me within the level of your frown,

But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate;

  Since my appeal says I did strive to prove

  The constancy and virtue of your love.

 	--William Shakespeare

CXLV



Those lips that Love's own hand did make,

Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',

To me that languish'd for her sake:

But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come,

Chiding that tongue that ever sweet

Was us'd in giving gentle doom;

And taught it thus anew to greet;

'I hate' she alter'd with an end,

That followed it as gentle day,

Doth follow night, who like a fiend

From heaven to hell is flown away.

  'I hate', from hate away she threw,

  And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'.

 	--William Shakespeare