SHAKESPEARE

SONET CXIX

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.