O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, <br /> The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, <br /> That did not better for my life provide <br /> Than public means which public manners breeds. <br /> Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, <br /> And almost thence my nature is subdued <br /> To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: <br /> Pity me then and wish I were renew'd; <br /> Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink <br /> Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection <br /> No bitterness that I will bitter think, <br /> Nor double penance, to correct correction. <br /> Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye <br /> Even that your pity is enough to cure me.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-cxi/
