A fickle and changeful thing is a woman ever.
I will be gone from here and sing my songs/ In the forest wilderness where the wild beasts are,/ And carve in letters on the little trees/ The story of my love, and as the trees/ Will grow letters too will grow, to cry/ In a louder voice the story of my love.
Yield not to evils, but attack all the more boldly.
Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched
Who can blind lover's eyes?
If ye despise the human race, and mortal arms, yet remember that there is a God who is mindful of right and wrong.