Sonnet 118
Like as, to make our appetites more keen,With eager compounds we our palate urge,As, to prevent our maladies unseen,We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,Even so, being tuff of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,To bitter sauces did I frame my feedingAnd, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetnessTo be diseased ere that there was true needing.Thus policy in love, to anticipateThe ills that were not, grew to faults assuredAnd brought to medicine a healthful stateWhich, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured: But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
When sick of my love and untrue,my thirst makes me thirsty anew.Indiff'rence erasedby its bitter taste,I long for the sweetness of you.