OH, mad heart of a lover! Blind thoughts, rash heart, and fearless spirit! Nothing is so impenetrable, but you see a way through; nothing so hard, but you think it easy; nothing so close-shut, but for you it’s open. You make light of every danger, and admit no hardships. All a husband’s precautions are useless against you. No laws bind you; no fear, no shame can move you. Work for you is but a game, nothing ever hinders you.

Oh, Love that subdues all things! Here is a man among the first of men, an Emperor’s dearest friend, wealthy, mature in years, well-read, famed for his judgment, and you can make him throw away his purple, put on a sack, and, from being a master, become a servant; though reared in luxury, train his shoulder to carry burdens, and hire himself out as a common porter.

Wonderful! Almost incredible! to see this man, in all else so grave a counsellor, now in the ranks of carriers and choosing for his companions the sweepings and the dregs of mankind. What greater transformation could one ask? This is a Metamorphosis such as Ovid means, when he tells of men that have become beasts, or stones, or plants. And this is what the greatest of poets, Virgil, knew, when he sang of Circe’s lovers turned into wild animals. For this is how love’s flame alters the heart of man, so that he scarce differs from the brutes.