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ar: Cleo Laine |
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al: The Collection |
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ti: My Love Is As A Fever Sonnet No 147 |
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tool: zūn hm fèi juān mí xuán cáo lǐ è |
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My love is as a fever, longing still |
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For that which longer nurseth the disease, |
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Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, |
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Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. |
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My reason, the physician to my love, |
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Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, |
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Hath left me, and I desperate now approve |
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Desire is death, which physic did except. |
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Past cure I am, now reason is past care, |
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And franticmad with evermore unrest |
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My thoughts and my discourse as madmen' s are, |
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At random from the truth vainly expressed: |
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For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, |
| [02:06.569] |
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. |
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yì zhě: gū zhèng kūn, běi dà wài yǔ xué yuàn shì jiè wén xué yán jiū suǒ jiào shòu bó dǎo suǒ zhǎng, zhōng guó wài guó wén xué xué huì shā shì bǐ yà yán jiū huì huì cháng. |