XI

The harsh acts of your levity!

Many and many.

I am hung here, a scare-crow for lovers.

Escape! There is, O Idiot, no escape,

Flee if you like into Ranaus, desire will follow you thither,

Though you heave into the air upon the gilded Pegasean back,

Though you had the feathery sandals of Perseus

To lift you up through split air,

The high tracks of Hermes would not afford you shelter.

Amor stands upon you, Love drives upon lovers, a heavy mass on free necks.