I shall far in exile die That contented thou mayst live, But beware lest Love perceive How thou scorn'st my misery. In Love's dance, though Love may place Loyal heart in bondage strait, Yet it may not change its state, But must stay, to shun disgrace. Thou in beauty dost excel Every maiden on this earth, And I thought that from thy worth Thou wert firm in love as well. Now my love the truth doth know 'Twas that Nature wished to limn In thy face an angel, Time In thy mood that changes so. Wouldst thou know where I have gone, Where my woeful life shall end, Mark my blood, thy footsteps bend By the path my blood hath shown. And though naught with thee doth well Of our love and harmony Do not to the corse deny E'en the sad and last farewell. Thou wilt be without remorse, Harder than the diamond stone, If thou makest not thy moan, When thou dost behold my corse. If in life thou hatedst me, Then amidst my hapless plight I shall count my death delight To be dead and wept by thee. 'What words will suffice, shepherdesses, to make you understand the extremity of grief that seized upon my heart, when I clearly understood that the verses I had read were my beloved Artidoro's? But there is no reason why I should make too much of it to you, since it did not go as far as was needed to end my life, which thenceforward I have held in such loathing, that I would not feel, nor could there come to me, a greater pleasure than to lose it. So great and of such a kind were the sighs I then gave forth, the tears I shed, the piteous cries I uttered, that none who had heard me but would have taken me for mad. In short, I remained in such a state, that, without considering what I owed to my honour, I determined to forsake my dear native land, beloved parents and cherished brothers, and to leave my simple flock to take care of itself; and, without heeding aught else save what I deemed to be necessary for my satisfaction, that very morning, embracing a thousand times the bark where my Artidoro's hand had been, I departed from that place with the intent to come to these banks where I know Artidoro has and makes his abode, to see if he has been so inconsiderate and cruel to himself, as to put into practice what he left written in his last verses: for if it were so, henceforward I promise you, my friends, that the desire and haste with which I shall follow him in death, shall be no less than the willingness with which I have loved him in life. But, woe is me! I verily believe there is no foreboding which may be to my hurt but will turn out true, for it is now nine days since I came to