All powerful love is like the sword of old
By Acban given to Cambuscan bold
No armour could its piercing stroke endure
Nought but itself its own dire wound could cure
And no less mighty love’s keen pointed darts
Pierce with resistless force the hardest hearts
Against their power no prudence e’er can guard
And no defence the threat’ning danger ward
The wounds of those who are doomed his rage to feel
None but himself, who gave those wounds can heal
Then let dear youth, my prayers your soul incline
To heal the wounds you’ve given your Valentine.