VALENTINE   For in revenge of my contempt of love

Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes,

And made them watchers of mine own heart’s sorrow.

O gentle Proteus, love’s a mighty lord,

And hath so humbled me as I confess

There is no woe to his correction,

Nor to his service no such joy on earth.

Now, no discourse except it be of love.

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,

Upon the very naked name of love. (2.4.125-134)

The way I mocked love—mocked lovers—it’s all come back to bite me, hard. For in revenge of my contempt of love love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes, and made them watchers of mine own heart’s sorrow. I lie awake at night, unable to sleep; my eyes are completely trapped, I’m totally besotted—all I can do is observe my own suffering, wallow in my pain. O gentle Proteus—maaaate—love’s a mighty lord. I’ve got it bad; I’ve been totally hit for six by Cupid. (The cricketing metaphor—inappropriate? maybe…) I understand you now; I’m sorry! He has so humbled me, I’m now so entirely under his control, so completely his servant, that I confess there is no woe to his correction, nor to his service no such joy on earth. There’s a masochistic pleasure in this pain, isn’t there, a kind of delight in suffering in the name of love! And now, no discourse except it be of love. I don’t want to talk about anything else! I don’t need anything else, except love, and my beloved: now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep—eat my breakfast, lunch, dinner, and go to sleep simply on the thought of love, my love, the very naked name, the very thought of love; it’s all I need to live by. Love is my North, my South, my East and West, / My working week and my Sunday rest, / My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song…*

*with apologies to W. H. Auden.