And nobility will not be able to help you with your love; Love does not know how to cede to ancestral images.
Fickleness has always befriended the beautiful.
Great is the height I just scale, but the prospect of glory gives me strength.
No rival will steal away my sure love; that glory will be my gray hair.
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.
Do not unto another that which you would not he should do unto you.