Of liberty, who loves the city more
Than he reveres the city's ancient god:
This frigid husband who sets you below
His dream of duty to a horde of slaves:
This man I hate, and I will humble him.
TSARPI:
I think I hate him too. He stands apart
From me, ev'n while he holds me in his arms,
By something that I cannot understand,
Nor supple to my will, nor melt with tears,