Bee

Sunday, April 6, 2008

The Song of the First Chorus

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.


Samuel Daniel (1562-1619)

** from Hymen's Triumph