CXI

    O！ for my sake do you with Fortune chide¹, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand： Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd； Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink, Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection； No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance², to correct correction. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, Even that your pity is enough to cure me.