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 or your ne'er-cloying sweetness,To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding;And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetnessTo be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipateThe ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd,And brought to medicine a healthful state,Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd;
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.