Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever longing still

1My love is as a fever longing still,

2For that which longer nurseth the disease;

3Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

4The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

5My reason, the physician to my love,

6Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

7Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

8Desire is death, which physic did except.

9Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,

10And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;

11My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,

12At random from the truth vainly express'd;

13 For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

14 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.