sick puppy

Woke up twenty times last night, thanks to a fever that left me drenched in sweat. Silly me, I've decided to go on with teaching. But it reminds me of Shakespeare. And Shakespeare's much more fun back-translated...

Sonnet 147
My love is as fever and still longs for that,
that longer nurseth the illness;
On that that draw in doth canned goods the patient,
the uncertain appetite to please.
My reason, which physician annoyed
Hath, which is to my love, that its regulations are not held,
I left, and I, which are hopeless now,
approve, wish its death, which, medicine expected.
Behind healing I am, conclude am wild furious behind
and now with always restlessness;
My thoughts and my statement as madmen's are coincidental,
from the truth vainly express'd;
For me thee swore honestly, and who thought bright thee,
that the art as black as hell, as darkly as night.

Or read the original here.