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CXI.
O,
for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
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 subdued
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 penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that
your pity is enough to cure me.
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