What a fine thing to ask, that I accompany you to the rival's house. I am not your guardian or caretaker, so go by yourself.

Imagine the stinging irony here—the beloved casually asks the lover to escort them straight to the rival's doorstep! Hiding his crushed pride behind a veil of sharp sarcasm, the poet retorts that he is a lover, not an escort or a hired watchman. It captures that terribly relatable ache of jealousy and helplessness, where heartbreak protects itself by putting on a show of cold indifference.