- 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,
- 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 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.