CXVIII

    Like as, to make our appetite more keen, With eager compounds we our palate urge； As, to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun¹ sickness when we purge²； Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding； And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, to anticipate The 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.