CXLV
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 sweetWas us’d in giving gentle doom;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 fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away.‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,And sav’d my life, saying ‘not you’.