Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that most with cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind, Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho!
“Love is a sickness”
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Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: Relieve my languish and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care, return, And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn... |
Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that most with cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove... |
Love is a sickness full of woes, More we enjoy it, more it dies; Love is a torment of the mind, |