I love; and yet am forced to seem to hate!
I do; yet dare not say, I ever meant!
I seem stark mute; but inwardly do prate!
I am, and not; I freeze and yet am burned;
Since from myself, my otherself I turned!
My care is like my shadow in the sun;
Follows me flying! flies, when I pursue it!
Stands and lies by me! doth what I have done!
This too familiar Care doth make me rue it!
No means I find, to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things, it be supprest.
Some gentler Passions slide into my mind;
For I am soft, and made of melting snow.
Or be more cruel, Love! and so be kind:
Let me, or float, or sink! be high, or low!
Or let me live with some more sweet content;
Or die! and so forget what Love e'er meant.
[Queen Elizabeth I {1533-1603} 'Self and the Otherself', in Solitude, from Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets]
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