The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Cure
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
THE CURE.
Come, doctor! use thy roughest art,
Thou canst not cruel prove;
Cut, burn, and torture, every part,
To heal me of my love.
Thou canst not cruel prove;
Cut, burn, and torture, every part,
To heal me of my love.
There is no danger, if the pain
Should me to a fever bring;
Compar'd with heats I now sustain,
A fever is so cool a thing
(Like drink which feverish men desire)
That I should hope 't would almost quench my fire.
Should me to a fever bring;
Compar'd with heats I now sustain,
A fever is so cool a thing
(Like drink which feverish men desire)
That I should hope 't would almost quench my fire.