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On him sore burdens, though he should

Be burned alive he never could

Shake off his yoke; and will you then

On this most wretched among men

Let loose your rage, whom Love hath ta’en

So fast within his toils, that fain

Although he be to cast aside

His yoke, therein must still abide?

What then, fair sir, doth prick you on

To do him hurt? Have you not won

Promise from him to be your slave?

And wherefore should your heart still crave

His wrack and ruin? If Love of late

Hath bowed his soul to you, should hate

Against him burn in you therefor?

You surely would be honoured more

In sparing him than some rude hound;

A kindly, generous man is bound

To succour those beneath him. Hard

Is he who fast his heart hath barred

Against a suppliant in distress.”

Quoth Pity then: “Oft gentleness

May overcome austerity:

But whenso sternness comes to be

Pushed past all reason, then it is

But savage cruelty ywis.

Therefore, O Danger, I require

That you no longer let the fire

Of your resentment burn too hot

’Gainst this poor simple soul, whose lot