And more—her heart was never linked to me.
Seneca: In tender years is faith not manifest,
When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.
Nero: This I myself long trusted, but in vain,540
Though she was clearly of unloving heart,
And every look betrayed her hate of me.
At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;
And I have now a worthy wife obtained,
In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms545
Minerva, Venus, Juno—all would bow.