For such a sovereign joy, a prize so high No silver and no gold could ever buy. - Ludovico Ariosto

What sweeter bliss and what more blessed state
Can be imagined than a loving heart,
But for the torment which Man suffers, that
Suspicion, sinister and deep, that smart,
That aching wretchedness, that malady,
That frenzied rage, which we call jealousy?

Ingiustissimo Amor, perché sì raro
Corrispondenti fai nostri desiri?
Onde, perfido, avvien che t'è sì caro
Il discorde voler ch’in duo cor miri?

Non far altrui quel che patir non vuoi.