Is there no help, then? Methinks
I have lied. When first I felt this malady, if I had dared to
make mention of it. I might have spoken with a physician who
could have completely cured me. But I like not to discuss such
matters; I think he would pay me no heed and would not consent to
accept a fee. No wonder, then, if I am terrified; for I am very
ill, yet I do not know what disease this is which has me in its
grip, and I know not whence this pain has come. I do not know?
I know full well that it is Love who does me this injury. How is
that? Can Love do harm? Is he not gentle and well-bred? I used
to think that there was naught but good in Love; but I have found
him full of enmity. He who has not had experience of him does
not know what tricks Love plays. He is a fool who joins his
ranks; for he always seeks to harm his followers. Upon my faith,
his tricks are bad. It is poor sport to play with him, for his
game will only do me harm. What shall I do, then? Shall I
retreat? I think it would be wise to do so, but I know not how
to do it. If Love chastens and threatens me in order to teach
and instruct me, ought I to disdain my teacher? He is a fool who
scorns his master. I ought to keep and cherish the lesson which
Love teaches me, for great good may soon come of it.
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