CXLVThose lips that Love’s own hand did make,Breathed 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,Chiding that tongue that ever sweetWas us’d in giving gentle doom;And taught it thus anew to greet;‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,That followed it as gentle day,Doth follow night, who like a fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away.‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,And sav’d my life, saying ‘not you’.
Those lips that Love’s own hand did make,Breathed 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,Chiding that tongue that ever sweetWas us’d in giving gentle doom;And taught it thus anew to greet;‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,That followed it as gentle day,Doth follow night, who like a fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away.‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,And sav’d my life, saying ‘not you’.