| WHAT 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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| And ruin’d love, when it is built anew, | |
| Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. | |
| So I return rebuk’d to my content, | |
| And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. |