Sonnet 118

　　Like as，to make our appetites more keen，

　　With eager compounds we our palate urge；

　　As to prevent our maladies unseen，

　　We sicken to shun sickness when we purge：

　　Even so，being full of your ne'er cloying sweetness，

　　To bitter sauces did I flame my feeding；

　　And，sick of welfare，found a kind of meetness

　　To be diseased，ere that there was true needing.

　　Thus policy in love，t'anticipate

　　The ills that were not，grew to faults