from all lust: but I have nothing to say to him, as it is lust of which
I am now speaking. But should there be any love--as there certainly
is--which is but little, or perhaps not at all, short of madness, such
as his is in the Leucadia--

Should there be any God whose care I am--

it is incumbent on all the Gods to see that he enjoys his amorous
pleasure.

Wretch that I am!

Nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately,

What, are you sane, who at this rate lament?

He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses: then how tragical
he becomes!

Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore,
And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store!
Oh! all ye winds, assist me!

He thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to help his love:
he excludes Venus alone, as unkind to him.

Thy aid, O Venus, why should I invoke?

He thinks Venus too much employed in her own lust to have regard to
anything else, as if he himself had not said and committed these