1 O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
2 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
3 That did not better for my life provide
4 Than public means which public manners breeds.
5 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
6 And almost thence my nature is subdu'd
7 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
8 Pity me then and wish I were renew'd;
9 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
10 Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection,
11 No bitterness that I will bitter think,
12 Nor double penance, to correct correction.
13 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
14 Even that your pity is enough to cure me.