CXLV

    Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Breathed forth¹ 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, Chiding² that tongue that ever sweet Was us'd in giving gentle doom³； 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 fiend From heaven to hell is flown away. 'I hate', from hate away she threw, And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'.