Q 119

WHat potions have I drunk of Siren tears
Distill'd from Limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win ?

What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ?

How have mine eyes out of their Spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever ?

O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better.

And ruin'd love when it is built anew
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

So I return rebuk'd to my content,
And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.
buy me