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Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill-bred it is!
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I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it, and am in agony.
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I love and I hate. How can this be, you ask in vain. I know not, but I feel it to be so and am wracked with pain.
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Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred, and a Thousand more.
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My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women,--or stop loving you, no matter what you do.
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