longing still for that which longer nurseth the disease

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. Sonnet 147 reveals a paradox within the poet, and perhaps the population at large, between desiring the exact sin or ill which makes one sickly, unstable, or less completely whole as an individual, and knowing the thing you desire, in this case the poet's mistress, is the very thing causing trouble. 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. Tis' better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now … 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. Sonnet 147, by William Shakespeare. C D C D 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. from forth a copse], As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII [Blow, blow, thou winter wind]. SONNET 147. that which etc. My reason, the physician to my love, 5 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is … Ding, dong, bell! For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the sill. For that which longer nurseth the disease, Line 3. For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. Reply, reply. Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. PLAY. = the unsuitable food or drink which caused the disease initially. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now … Shakespeare Sonnet 147. 1 Answers. Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 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 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. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? A B A B 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 love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the sill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 2. Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I … Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble”, Sonnet 15: When I consider everything that grows. I do love America but, to quote one of my own countrymen, "my love is as a fever, longing still for that which longer nurseth the disease." At random from the truth vainly expressed: For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desp'rate now approve Desire is … For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th'uncertain sickly appetite to please." 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