For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!