The Sonnets

Those lips that Loveʼs own hand did make,

Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’,

To me that languishʼd for her sake:

But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come,

Chiding that tongue that ever sweet

Was usʼd in giving gentle doom;

And taught it thus anew to greet;

‘I hate’ she alterʼd with an end,

That followed it as gentle day,

Doth follow night, who like a fiend

From heaven to hell is flown away.

‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,

And savʼd my life, saying ‘not you’.