Classic Poem

LVIII

Desire, alas, my master and my foe,
So sore altered, thyself how mayst thou see?
Sometime I sought that drives me to and fro;
Sometime thou ledst that leadeth thee and me.
What reason is to rule thy subjects so
By forced law and mutability?
For where by thee I doubted to have blame,
Even now by hate again I doubt the same.