Now Love makes war on me, my deadliest foe; Like Satan by Saint Michael, I’m defeated; Now I take canes for candles; thus I’m treated; I can’t see straight. Don’t say it isn’t so. A likely learnèd lad not long ago, Men counted me a prudent paragon, But now, as sure as heaven’s where Christ has gone, I’ve gone stark mad, as far too well I know. And yet all those who blame me as unwise Should find a clearer glass where they would see How force alone suppresses wisdom there. But where the cure for this distemper lies No man can tell; unless it’s Death maybe: Say what you like, for I no longer care.
translated by: C.H. Scott and Anthony Mortimer