Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918/Love is a Sickness

by Samuel Daniel

Samuel Daniel

1562–1619

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 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 enjoy'd, it sighing cries—
                  Heigh ho!