LXXII.

Lesbia, thou didst swear thou knewest only Catullus, Cared'st not, if him thine arms chained, a Jove to retain. Then not alone I loved thee, as each light lover a mistress, Lov'd as a father his own sons, or an heir to the name.

Now I know thee aright; so, if more hotly desiring, 5 Yet must count thee a soul cheaper, a frailty to scorn. 'Friend,' thou say'st, 'you cannot.' Alas! such injury leaveth Blindly to doat poor love's folly, malignly to will.