Do not reproach me, Ladies, if I’ve loved
If I have felt a thousand torches burning,
A thousand trials, a thousand sorrows biting,
If in my crying I have my time consumed.
Let not my name become the cause of censure
If I have failed, the scars are surely present
Don’t sharpen up their points, so violent,
But consider this, that Love, without your ardour
For a Vulcan to excuse you,
Without the beauty of Adonis to accuse you
Would, if it wished, still trap you by its art.
In having less than me those chance occasions
And more of my strong estranging passions.
So guard yourselves against a saddened heart.