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!
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,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries--
Heigh ho!
Love is a torment of the mind,
A...
