| THOSE lips that Love’s own hand did make | |
| Breath’d 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, | 5 |
| 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 follow’d it as gentle day | 10 |
| 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.’ |