Thou seest how his heart serveth his will: then, how is it that thou obeyest not me, O my Heart?

Thou seest, my Heart, how he neglecteth me: and yet thou consortest with him as if he were thy friend!

Thou followest him at thy own sweet will and pleasure, my Heart: dost thou also teach me that those who are unfortunate have no friends?

Thou refusest to indulge in a bouderie, my Heart, before showing thy delight in his company: who is going hereafter to take thee as a confidant in suchlike things?

It feareth lest it should not get him, and when it hath got him, it feareth lest it should lose him: thus there is no end to the pangs that my Heart suffereth.

What is my Heart good for? It is good for nothing else but to devour me when I am musing alone.

Fallen into the company of this foolish Heart that knoweth not to preserve its self-respect by forgetting him, I have myself forgotten my dignity.

My life of a Heart thinketh it a disgrace to our own selves if we humiliate the beloved: and so it is always partial to him.

Who will support a man in his grief, if the Heart of his beloved itself refuseth him help?

When my own heart is not on my side,72 is it a wonder that strangers73 care not at all for me?