Roman Imperium

LXXV. THE PRICE OF TREACHERY

There's none, my Lesbia, can say
That she was ever loved so well
As you have been from day to day
By me, and truly I can tell
Not so much faith was manifest
In any compact ever signed
As in the love that fills my breast:
Yet to this pass you bring my mind
With thinking of your treachery
That in devotion it is lost,
Though bedded in uncertainty,
A wandering vessel, tempest-tossed.
I neither like you now, though you
Should faultless be - Oh! gods above!
Do as you please - nor, it is true,
Can I desist from hopeless love!