Thou saidst that I alone thy heart could move
And that for me thou wou’dst abandon Jove.
I lov’d thee then, not with a love defil’d.
But as a father loves his only child.
I know thee now, and tho’ I fiercelier burn,
Thou art become the object of my scorn.
See what thy falsehood gets; I must confess
I love the more, but I esteem the less.
From Catullus 72, translated by William Walsh