To the great sender turns a [sour] offence,
Crying 'That's good [that's gone.'] [Our] rash [faults]
Make [trivial] price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust:
[Our] [own] love waking cries to see what's done,
While [shameful hate] [sleeps] out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now [forget her].
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: