Love is a Sickness Full of Woes
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.
More we enjoy it, more it dies,
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries,
Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full nor fasting.
More we enjoy it, more it dies
If not enjoyd, it sighing cries,
by Samuel Daniel.