Aim, like the fowler, at its proper quarry;
Or sail a mariner upon the sea,
Tempting a doubtful fortune as it goes;
Or chieftainlike contends in arms,
Nor fails to conquer even baseless jealousy;
Or, like a mine sunk in the bosom’s depths,
Bursts forth above with fury uncontrolled;—
Can it seem strange that I should still conceal
My many loving feelings with false shows?
Let, then, this scarf bear witness to the truth,