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 commited,
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 a new
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuck'd to my content,
And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.