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CXI



O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,

The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,

That did not better for my life provide

Than public means which public manners breeds.

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,

And almost thence my nature is subdu'd

To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:

Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd;

Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink,

Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;

No bitterness that I will bitter think,

Nor double penance, to correct correction.

  Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,

  Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

 	--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

L



How heavy do I journey on the way,

When what I seek, my weary travel's end,

Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,

'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'

The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,

Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,

As if by some instinct the wretch did know

His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee:

The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,

That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,

Which heavily he answers with a groan,

More sharp to me than spurring to his side;

  For that same groan doth put this in my mind,

  My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

 	--William Shakespeare