Sonnet CXVIII

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 of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,

To bitter sauces did I frame my feeting;

And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness

To be diseased ere that there was true needing.

Thus policy n love, to anticipate

The ills that were not, grew to faults assured,

And brought to medecine a healthful state

Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured:

But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,

Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

William Shakespeare