GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:3.11.63-3.11.82 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:3.11.63-3.11.82

I am not such a fool as I have been,To dread your spirit, and to sooth your spleen.But, ah! by diff'rent passions I'm oppress'd,Fierce love and hate contend within my breast;My soul they thus divide, but love, I fear,Will prove too strong, and get the mast'ry there;I'll strive to hate her, but if that should proveA fruitless strife, in spite of me I'll love.The bull does not affect the yoke, but stillHe bears the thing he hates against his willI hate, I fly the faithless fair in vain,Her beauty ever brings me back again;She always in my heart will have a place,I hate her humour, but I love her face;No rest I to my tortur'd soul can give,Nor with her nor without her can I live.Oh ! that thy mind we in thy face did view,Less lovely that thou wert, or else more true.How diffrent are thy manners and thy sight!Thy deeds forbid us and thy eyes invite.