I. Always out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Therefore, since I speak so much of loving, my Lady may well believe without any doubt, from my words, that I love from my heart, faithfully. But I should not believe her about it at all, for mere words, unless she did something more.
II. In my opinion, no lady knows how to praise Love better than she, who so little wishes to practice it. It (my love) had a very fair beginning, but now it pays me nothing (gives me no satisfaction). Her eyes have stolen all my sense, with such lovely mastery that it makes me rejoice in my own folly.
III. Yet I never saw a faithful love that did not have some folly in it, nor joy of love without sorrow, nor great honor without trouble; and since my thoughts are at least about honor and nothing else, I suffer ever more easily the torment which is doubled every day.
IV. And I double the scales, for I hold her doubly dear. Almost every day I can double my ill fortune doubly. Tristan, when he drank the love potion, doubled in a finer way, for he won his lady by the means by which I lose mine.
V. She gives me heart-heaviness often, while she is slow in making me rejoice. (And it would be difficult to honor me.) Yet Honor and Hope keep me a little joyous. Let it all be as she will; for, even though I did not wish it, it would be so anyhow.
VI. Lady Beatrice, I could not praise you as highly as would be fitting for you.
