| SONNET 147 |
| My love is as a fever, longing still |
| For that which longer nurseth the disease, |
| Feeding on that which doth 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 madmen's are, |
| At random from the truth vainly express'd; |
| For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, |
| Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. |
| Full Explanatory Notes for Sonnet 147 |
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