Oh, you cruel woman, can you say I don’t love you when I take sides with you against myself? Don’t I think about you even when I’ve forgotten about myself—and all for your sake, you tyrant? Who hates you that I would call my friend? Who do you frown at that I grovel on and flatter? No—if you scowl at me, don’t I immediately punish myself by moaning? Which quality do I see in myself that would make me too proud to be your servant? All of the best in me worships the worst in you, and you can command me with a glance. But, my love, go on hating me, because now I know your mind. You love people who can see, and I’m blind.