nought whence evil may come to me if it come not from my desire.
Possibly my desire is a malady; but I take so much pleasure in
that desire that it causes me a pleasant grief; and I have so
much joy in my sorrow that my malady is a pleasant one. Thessala,
nurse! tell me now, is not this sorrow which seems sweet to me ,
and yet which tortures me, a deceitful one? I know not how I may
recognise whether it be an infirmity or no. Nurse! tell me now
the name, and the manner, and the nature, of it. But be well
assured that I have no care to recover in any wise, for I cherish
the anguish of it exceedingly." Thessala, who was right wise as
regards Love and all his ways, knows and understands by her
speech that that which distracts her proceeds from Love--because
she calls and names it sweet--it is certain that she loves; for
all other ills are bitter save that alone which comes from
loving; but Love transmutes its own bitterness into pleasure, and
sweetness often turns to its opposite. But Thessala, who well
knew the matter, replies to her: "Fear nought, I will tell you
well both the nature and the name of your disease. You have told
me, methinks, that the pain which you feel seems to you to be joy
and health: of such a nature is love-sickness; for there is in it
joy and sweetness. Therefore I prove to you that you love; for I
find pleasure in no sickness save only in love-sickness. All
other ills as a rule are always grievous and horrible; but Love
is pleasant and tranquil. You love; I am fully certain of it. I
regard it not as base in you; but I will hold it baseness if
through childishness or folly you conceal your heart from me."
"Nurse, truly you are talking to no purpose; for first I mean to
be certain and sure that never by any chance will you speak
thereof to any living creature." "Lady, certainly the winds will
speak of it sooner than I unless you give me permission; and of