"Ah, if you love your love still! I hate mine."
"I can't hate."
"I won't teach you; and won't tell
You, therefore, what you please to ask of me:
As if I, also, may not have my ache!"
"My sort of ache? No, no! and yet—perhaps!
All comes of thinking you superior still.
But live and learn! I say! Time 's up! Good jump!
You old, indeed! I fancy there 's a cut
Across the wood, a grass-path: shall we try?