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Poem by Samuel Daniel
LOVE Is a Sickness
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 enjoyed, it sighting cries, Heigh ho! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, not full, nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, Heigh ho!
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