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Can it be true?'--she cried--'shall I be fain
To follow one, that strives to hide and fly?
Esteem a man that has me in disdain?
Pray him that never hears my supplant cry?
Suffer who hates me o'er my heart to reign?
One that his lofty virtues holds so high,
T'were need some heaven-born goddess should descend
From realms above, his stubborn heart to bend?
...
Yea: rather of myself I should complain,
Than the desire, to which I bared my breast
Whereby was Reason hunted from her reign,
And all my powers by stronger force opprest.
Thus borne from bad to worse, without a rein
I cannot the unbridled beast arrest;
Who makes me see I to destruction haste,
That I bitterness in death may taste.
Yet, ah! why blame myself? Wherein have I
Ever offended, save in loving thee?
What wonder was it then that suddenly
A woman's feeble sense opprest should be?
Why fence and guard myself, lest bearing high
Wise words, and beauty rare should pleasure me?
Most wretched is the mortal that would shun
To look upon the visage of the sun
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Ludovico Ariosto (L'Orlando Furioso di Lodovico Ariosto, Vol. 4: Con Annotazioni (Classic Reprint))