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Shakespeare, William: CXLVII. Sonnet

Portre of Shakespeare, William

CXLVII. Sonnet (English)

My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which dost preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madman's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;

   For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
   Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.



Uploaded byDvorcsák Gábor Imre
PublisherOxquarry Books Ltd.
Source of the quotationthe amazing web site of Shakespeare's sonnets

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