Then, if 'tis clear that whatso Ills torment me
Must gar increasèd other Ills torment,
Now can I never hope that aught content me.
But is this only Fancy's False that shent?
O feckless Vision, idle Thought that blent me!
What! I, e'en I, can hope to see Content?
IV.
Despoys que quis Amor que eu sô passasse
(The pains and inquietude of love. Cf. Canz. X.).
When Love so willed on me alone be vented
What Ills for many had reparted He,
He made me Fortune's thrall, for He could see
No more that mote in me be represented :
She, that her gain from Love should be augmented,
In pains he only doomèd me to dree,
What for none other wight consented she,
Gave her consentment be for me invented.
Lo! here with various song fare I complaining,
Copious and exemplaire for one and all,
Subject to serve this Tyrant tway's behest,
My various madness in my verse constraining,
Sad whoso straighteneth in such guise his Rest,
And rests contented with a boon so small!
