Sonnet 111

1 O for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
2 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
3 That did not better for my life provide,
4 Than public means which public manners breeds.
5 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
6 And almost thence my nature is subdued
7 To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand:
8 Pity me then, and wish I were renewed,
9 Whilst like a willing patient I will drink,
10 Potions of eisel ’gainst my strong infection,
11 No bitterness that I will bitter think,
12 Nor double penance to correct correction.
13 Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye,
14 Even that your pity is enough to cure me.