Sonnet 119

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted In the distraction of this madding fever! O benefit of ill, now I find true That better is by evil still made better, And ruin'd love when it is built anew Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.     So I return rebuk'd to my content,     And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.