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 provideThan public means which public manners breeds.Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,And almost thence my nature is subduedTo 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 drinkPotions of eisel 'gainst my strong infectionNo 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.
Philanderer, actor and writer,too crude, too low-born, anoutsider.A badly-dealt handis my personal brand;I beg you to make my soullighter.