Sonnet 111

O, 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.

Stay here with the unlucky.

Let fortune answer for my sins.

Life could have done better by me

Than injuries and ruins.

So it is I have a bad name

And almost learn to act the part,

Almost think I am a shame

Against the witness of my heart.

Listen for me, have compassion.

I’ll let you be my doctor,

Drink any potion,

No matter how bitter.

But truly, if you have compassion only,

That’s enough—you can heal me.