My love is as a fever

Sonnet 147

by William Shakespeare

My love is as a fever, longing still

For that which longer nurseth the disease,

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as mad men’s are,

At random from the truth vainly expressed.

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

O thou my lovely boy

Sonnet 126

William Shakespeare

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;

Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st

Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.

If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,

As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill

May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.

Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!

She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.

Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,

And her quietus is to render thee.

Thou blind fool love

Sonnet 137

by William Shakespeare

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes

That they behold and see not what they see?

They know what beauty is, see where it lies,

Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.

If eyes corrupt by overpartial looks,

Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,

Why of eyes’ falsehood hast thou forgèd hooks,

Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?

Why should my heart think that a several plot

Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place?

Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not

To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,

And to this false plague are they now transferred

best wishes 4 the all