But I am mad to love. I am not wise.
I am the worst of men to love the best
Of all sweet women! An untimely jest,
A thing made up of rhapsodies and sighs,
And unordained on earth, and in the skies,
And undesired in tumult and in rest.
VIII.
All this is true. I know it. I am he.
I am that man. I am the hated friend
Who once received a smile, and sought to mend