I grieve, yet dare not show my discontent;
I love, and yet am forced to hate, I dote but dare not what I meant;
I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate.
I am and am not; freeze and yet I burn,
Since from myself and my other self I turn.
My care is like the shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it.
Sounds and lives by me, does what I have done.
O let me live with more sweet content
Or die and so forget what love e'er meant.
-Elizabeth I, Queen of England (1533-1603)