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| Those lips that Love's own hand did make, | 1 |
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| Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate', |
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| To me that languish'd for her sake: |
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| But when she saw my woeful state, |
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| Straight in her heart did mercy come, | 5 |
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| Chiding that tongue that ever sweet |
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| Was us'd in giving gentle doom; |
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| And taught it thus anew to greet; |
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| 'I hate' she alter'd with an end, |
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| That followed it as gentle day, | 10 |
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| Doth follow night, who like a fiend |
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| From heaven to hell is flown away. |
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 'I hate', from hate away she threw, |
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| And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'. |
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