Shake-speares Sonnets, Never before Imprinted/Sonnet 147
For other versions of this work, see Sonnet 147 (Shakespeare).
147My loue is as a feauer longing still,For that which longer nurseth the disease,Feeding on that which doth preserue the ill,Th'vncertaine sicklie appetite to please:My reason the Phisition to my loue,Angry that his prescriptions are not keptHath left me, and I desperate now approoue,Desire is death, which Phisick did except.Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,And frantick madde with euer-more vnrest,My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are,At randon from the truth vainely exprest.For I haue sworne thee faire, and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as darke as night.