Arnulph, Ariald, forgive my former heat,
You do but your bare duty. Friends they’re right,
And I your whilom pastor in the wrong.
For I mistook the face of earth’s poor love
And dreamed a stair of human happiness
Did lead to Heaven. See me now rebuked.
’Tis the Pope’s will. Arnulph, read thou this.
I charge thee, as the pastor of this parish,
That you leave out no word however hard,
Nor soften down one sentence of this curse,