Sonnet 145
Those lips that Love's own hand did makeBreathed forth the sound that said “I hate”To me that languished for her sake.But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,Was used in giving gentle doom,And taught it thus anew to greet:
“I hate” she altered with an endThat followed it as gentle dayDoth follow night, who like a fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away.
“I hate” from hate away she threw,And saved my life, saying “not you.”