| SONNET 145 |
|---|
| 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 sweet |
| Was used in giving gentle doom, |
| And taught it thus anew to greet: |
| 'I hate' she alter'd with an end, |
| That follow'd 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 saved my life, saying 'not you.' |
