Lesbia while her lord stands near, rails ever upon me. This to the fond weak fool seemeth a mighty delight. Dolt, you see not at all. Could she forget me, to rail not, Nought were amiss; if now scold she, or if she revile, 'Tis not alone to remember; a shrewder stimulus arms her, Anger; her heart doth burn verily, thus to revile.