On Her Forgiveness of a Wrong

This is not virtue. To forgive were great 
If love were in the issue and not gold. 
But wrongs there are ’tis treason to forget, 
And to forgive before the deed was cold 
Was a strange jest. Ah, Manon, you have sold 
The keys of heaven at a vulgar rate, 
A sum of money for the wealth untold 
Of a just anger and the right to hate. 
—Well. It is done and the price paid. Now make 
Haste to betray them as you me betrayed. 
These are no longer foes to be forgiven. 
Remember they are friends, that peace is made, 
That you are theirs. Then rend them for love’s sake, 
And let your hatred with your love be even.