Sonnet #147

My luv is as a fever longing still,
4 th@ which longer nurseth d disease,
Feeding on th@ which doth preserve d ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite 2 please:
My reason d physician 2 my luv,
Angry th@ his prescriptions R nt kept
Hath left me, & I desperate now approve,
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
& frantic-mad wiv evermore unrest,
My thoughts & my discourse as mad menz are,
@ r&om frm d truth vainly expressed.
4 I hv sworn thee fair, & thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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