Chapter LXXXV: How the Poet Loves

Hate I, and love I. Haps thou'lt ask me wherefore I do so.
Wot I not, yet so I do feeling a torture of pain.

I hate and I love. Wherefore do I so, peradventure thou askest. I know not, but I feel it to be thus and I suffer.

LXXXVI.

Quintia formosast multis, mihi candida, longa,
Rectast. haec ego sic singula confiteor,
Totum illud formosa nego: nam nulla venustas,
Nulla in tam magnost corpore mica salis.
Lesbia formosast, quae cum pulcherrima totast, 5
Tum omnibus una omnes surripuit Veneres.