ndly deed. If
thou didst spare me, it must be attributed to thy wickedness. Ah, what
kind of service and kindness is that! How well hast thou employed them
here! A curse upon him who thanks thee or feels gratitude for such a
service! I know not which is more my enemy: life, which detains me, or
death, which will not slay me. Each one torments me mortally; and it
serves me right, so help me God, that in spite of myself I should still
live on. For I ought to have killed myself as soon as my lady the Queen
showed her hate for me; she did not do it without cause, but she had
some good reason, though I know not what it is. And if I had known what
it was before her soul went to God, I should have made her such rich
amends as would have pleased her and gained her mercy. God! what could
my crime have been? I think she must have known that I mounted upon the
cart. I do not know what other cause she can have to blame me. This has
been my undoing. If this is the reason of her hate, God! what harm could
this crime do? Any one who would reproach me for such an act never knew
what love is, for no one could mention anything which, if prompted by
love, ought to be turned into a reproach. Rather, everything that one
can do for his lady-love is to be regarded as a token of his love and
courtesy. Yet, I did not do it for my 'lady-love'. I know not by what
name to call her, whether 'lady-love', or not. I do not dare to call her
by this name. But I think I know this much of love: that if she loved
me, she ought not to esteem me less for this crime, but rather call me
her true lover, inasmuch as I regarded it as an honour to do all love
bade me do, even to mount upon a cart. She ought to ascribe this to
love; and this is a certain proof that love thus tries his devotees and
thus learns who is really his. But this service did not please my lady,
as I discovered by her countenance. And yet her lover did for her that
for which many have shamefully reproached and blamed him, though she was
the cause of it; and many blame me for the part I have played, and have
turned my sweetness into bitterness. In truth, such is the custom of
those who know so little of love, that even honour they wash in shame.
But whoever dips honour into shame, does not wash it, but rather sullies
it. But they, who maltreat him so, are quite ignorant of love; and he,
who fears not his commands, boasts himself very superior to him.
For unquestionably he fares well who obeys th