Love is a Sickness Full of Woes

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The Song of the First Chorus from Hymen's Triumph.

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 enjoy'd, it sighing cries,
Hey ho.
Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies
If not enjoyd, it sighing cries,
Hey ho.

by Samuel Daniel.

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