William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,

Or as sweet season’d shewers are to the ground;

And for the peace of you I hold such strife,

As twixt a miser and his wealth is found;

Now proud as an inioyer, and anon

Doubting the filching age will steale his treasure,

Now counting best to be with you alone,

Then betterd that the world may see my pleasure,¹

Some-time all ful with feasting on your sight,

And by and by cleane starued for a looke,

Possessing or pursuing no delight

Saue what is had, or must from you be tooke.

        Thus do I pine and surfet day by day,

        Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,

Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground;

And for the peace of you I hold such strife

As ’twixt a miser and his wealth is found;

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,

Now counting best to be with you alone,

Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure,

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,

And by and by clean starved for a look,

Possessing or pursuing no delight

Save what is had, or must from you be took.

        Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,

        Or gluttoning on all, or all away.