Oh how the pleasnat airs of true love be <br />Infect'd by those vapors, which arise <br />From out that noisome gulf, which gaping lies <br />Between the jaws of hellish Jealousy: <br /> <br />A monster, others' harm, self-misery, <br />Beauty's plague, Virtue's scourge, succour of lies; <br />Who his own joy to his own hurt applies, <br />And only cherish doth with injury; <br /> <br />Who since he hath, by Nature's special grace, <br />So piercing paws as spoil when they embrace, <br />So nimble feet as stir still, though on thorns, <br /> <br />So many eyes ay seeking their own woe, <br />So ample ears as never good news know: <br />Is it not evil that such a Devil want horns?<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-78-oh-how-the-pleasant-airs/
