My friend, ungrateful Love, who well must know
With what pure constancy my faith I keep,
Exerting his base pride, which is to heap
Upon his dearest friend his heaviest woe,—
Fearing that if I write, and publish so
His deeds, his grandeur I abate, his force
Not equalling his spite, has had recourse
To the fierce intervention of my foe;
And in the noble part with which I wield
The sword, and that which gives intelligence
Of our conceptions, I have wounded been;
But I will take good care that the offence
Shall cost the offender dear, now I am healed,
Offended, free, and for repayment keen.