Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds doe tie me day by day,
That I have frequent binne with unknowne minds,
And given to time your owne deare purchas'd right,
That I have hoysted saile to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Booke both my wilfulnesse and errour downe,
And on just proofe surmise, accumilate,
Bring me within the levell of your frowne,
But shoote not at me in your wakened hate:
  Since my appeale sayes I did strive to proove
  The constancy and vertue of your love.
Like as to make our appetites more keene
With eager compounds we our pallat urge,
As to prevent our malladies unseene,
We sicken to shun sicknesse when we purge.
Even so being full of your neare cloying sweetnesse,
To bitter sawces did I frame my feeding;
And sicke of wel-fare found a kinde of meetnesse,
To be diseas'd ere that there was true needing.
Thus pollicie in love t'anticipate
The ills that were, not grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthfull state
Which ranke of goodnesse would by ill be cured.
  But thence I learne and find the lesson true,
  Drugs poyson him that so fell sicke of you.
What potions have I drunke of Syren teares
Distil'd from Limbecks foule as hell within,
Applying feares to hopes, and hopes to feares,
Still loosing when I saw my selfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought it selfe so blessed never?

How have mine eyes out of their Spheares beene fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever?
O benefit of ill, now I finde true
That better is, by evill still made better.
And ruin'd love when it is built anew
Growes fairer then at first, more strong, far greater.
  So I returne rebuke to my content,
  And gaine by ills thrice more then I have spent.

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