Even if my strength should fail, my daring will win me praise: in might enterprises even the will to succeed is enough.
Every man now worships gold, all other reverence being done away.
No rival will steal away my sure love; that glory will be my gray hair.
And nobility will not be able to help you with your love; Love does not know how to cede to ancestral images.
Among absent lovers, ardor always fares better.
Love presses my head with carefully placed feet, wretch that he is, until he has taught me to detest chaste girls, and to live with no counsel.