Sonnet 147

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 madmen's are, At randon from the truth vainly express'd; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

You can listen to Sonnet 147 online on Radio and Podcast. Open the player on this page to stream the available audio.

Sonnet 147 is an episode from Shakespeare Sundays with Chop Bard by Ehren Ziegler.

This episode is 15:12 long.

This episode was published on May 22, 2022.

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