That which had pleased me once, troubled by spirit.
Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name as it changes direction.
O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault!
Abandon every hope, you who enter.
In judgement be ye not too confident, Even as a man who will appraise his corn When standing in a field, ere it is ripe.
Eternal love made me.