O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide...
Sonnet 111O, 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. Buy and Download...Click HERE
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You’re blaming Fortune for my not being noble born, as it makes me have to work for a living and rub shoulders with all sorts, making my manners coarse. I’m dyed in the bad habits of those I work with as much as a tanner’s hand gets dyed by his trade. Pity me, and wish me recovered, like a patient eagerly drinking vinegary medicine in an attempt to get better and rid himself of this horrible illness. I won’t consider anything bitter, I’ll take any medicine to correct this error that took me from the track. Believe me, if you pity me, that’ll be enough to cure me.