All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make himBy inch-meal a disease
All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make himBy inch-meal a disease
If so, be patient, sister.
I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.
By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and
I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de
lords, de gentlemen, my patients.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
But so much was our love
We would not understand what was most fit,
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life.
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.
I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient.
Sir, those cold ways,
That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
Where the disease is violent.
Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed
and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose
practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other
advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.
It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then
have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.
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.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories