NEVER say that I was false of heart, As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: L ET me not to the marriage of true minds Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. W HAT potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, In the distraction of this madding fever! O benefit of ill! now I find true That better is by evil still made better; And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuked to my content, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. HE expense TH of spirit in a waste of shame All this the world well knows; yet none knows well OOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Hemm'd by these rebel powers that thee array, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, |