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.'

CXLVI

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[Thrall to] these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Labra manu ipsius formata cupidinis ‘odi'
Sunt mihi, vel similem, reddere visa sonum.
Id penitus movit me virginis ejus amantem,
Ni simulac sensit, me miserata foret.
Increpuit linguam, cui munus amabile, dixit,
Blanda etiam spretis reddere verba procis;
Alloquiis uti melioribus inde docetur,

Ac nova post 'odi' clausula iussa sequi;
Et sequitur, qualis noctem lux candida nigram,
Quando Erebum caelo pestis abacta volat.
Optima virgo 'odi' sensu purgarat amaro

O anima infelix, terrenis insita membris,
Serva sub induti corporis imperio,

Cur mihi, dum langues intus tam pauper inopsque,
Extera sic fucis haec tua praeniteant?

Cur adeo impensam brevis incola ponis in ista
Tecta, per internam putria perniciem ?

An nimium hoc sumptus ut linquas omne vorandum
Vermibus; hanc finem corpus ut inveniat?

O anima, ut vivas, utare malignius ipso

Corpore, sis servi dives ab esurie.

Horas vende breves annos emptura deorum;

His satura, externas neglige delicias.

Mors hominum victrix ita vincitur; illaque victa

Si sit, habes vitam vivere perpetuam.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII

me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No,
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

Febris amor meus est, adeo desiderat ille
Cuncta quibus possit perpetuare malum;
Semper uterque etenim vel nutrimenta doloris
Appetit, incertae si placuere gulae.
Nam ratio, tantis in amoribus una medela,
Consilia indignans me data nulla sequi,
Cessit, et agnosco letale cupidinis omen
Esse, medelarum reicientis opem.
Sic ratio victa est, nec restat cura salutis
Vlla, sed huc illuc irrequietus agor;
Ac velut insani mea sensa ac verba vagantur
Longius a veris, ut sine mente sonus;

Nam mihi nonnunquam tu visa es dictaque, virgo,
Candida, quae tanquam Nox Erebusque nigras.

CXLVIII

Hei mihi, cum vero quam discordantia visu
Huic capiti inseruit lumina saevus amor!
Sive aliter, quonam sententia mentis aberrat
Falsa notans ea quae verius illa vident?
Si facies oculos mihi vere candida cepit,
Esse aliter volgus quo mihi iure putat?
Si specie fallebar, amor demonstrat aperte
Non sibi sed volgo noscere vera dari.
Quo potuit pacto? quid veri dispicit ille
Qui miser in lacrimis pervigilavit amans?
Haud igitur mirum, species me siqua fefellit;
Nubila dum purget sol videt ipse nihil.

Lumina, amor, lacrima mihi caecas, improbe, multa,
Ne videant clare quam tua falsa fides.

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all-tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

CL

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway?

To make me give the lie to my true sight,

And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,

That in the very refuse of thy deeds

There is such strength and warrantise of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.