Shakespeare Sonnet 118

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Like as, to make our appetites more keen,

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With eager compounds we our palate urge,

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As, to prevent our maladies unseen,

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We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,

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Even so, being tuff of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,

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To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding

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And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness

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To be diseased ere that there was true needing.

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Thus policy in love, to anticipate

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The ills that were not, grew to faults assured

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And brought to medicine a healthful state

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

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But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,

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Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.