About How Love Came to the Archpriest and about Love’s Debate with the Said Archpriest
The argument we had one night I’ll tell you to the end:
As I was pondering my fate, enraged—but not from wine—
A tall and handsome man appeared, prudent not to offend.
I asked him who he was. He said, “I’m Love, your next-door friend.”
Then I began to pour out all the fury I could spill,
And said, “If you are Love, you can’t be here beside me still.
You’re false, a cheat, a liar, who tricks mankind against his will.
You can’t save one last person, although millions you can kill.
“With ruses, wiles and flattery, and subtle lies to boot,
You poison people’s tongues—you dip your darts in poison, too.
Whoever serves you most, you wound, and hurt most when you shoot. You part sweetheart and swain, by anger that is born in you.
“You drive a lot of people mad with bad arts you know well,
You take away their sleep, their appetite and wish to drink,
Many you cause to dare so much with you, they’re on the brink
Of losing both their body and their soul, unless they think.
“You keep no rigid rules and show no sympathetic ties.
Sometimes you seize with pure brute force and take men by surprise.
Or sometimes, bit by bit, with countless subtle masteries.
You know that what I’m telling you is not a pack of lies.
“You trap people, and from then on you give them no relief,
You drag them day by day into a worried, troubled life.
Him who had trusted you, you chain into your gang of grief,
And make him slave through endless days for just a joy too brief.
“You strike with such a venom that, when you have shot your prey,
No medicine, no poultice, and no doctor’s potion heals.
No strong, robust young man comes out on top with you, I know,
For you will knock him down, however much he squirms or feels.
“We’ve many books on how you weaken people and deceive,
And leave them thin and hurt, and how you hoax them like a quack,
With fawning courtesies and all your clever wicked tricks.
You sap the strength of men—all tales of you make this attack.