'Stay, listen a while, Thyrsis, for if my ears do not deceive me, the sound that reaches them is that from the rebeck of my good friend Elicio, on whom Nature bestowed so much charm in many different arts, as you will hear if you listen to him, and learn if you speak with him.' 'Think not, Damon,' replied Thyrsis, 'that I have yet to learn Elicio's good qualities, for days ago fame clearly revealed them to me. But be silent now, and let us listen to see if he sings aught that may give us some sure token of his present fortune.' 'You say well,' answered Damon, 'but it will be necessary, the better to hear him, for us to go in among these branches so that we may listen to him more closely without being seen by him.' They did so, and placed themselves in so good a position that no word that Elicio said or sang, failed to be heard by them and even noted. Elicio was in the company of his friend Erastro, from whom he was rarely separated by reason of the pleasure and enjoyment he received from his excellent converse, and all or most of the day was spent by them in singing and playing their instruments, and at this moment, Elicio playing his rebeck and Erastro his pipe, the former began these verses: ELICIO. I yield unto the thought within my breast And in my grief find rest; Glory no more in view, I follow her whom fancy doth pursue, For her I ever in my fancy see, From all the bonds of Love exempt and free. Unto the soul's eye Heaven grants not the grace To see the peaceful face Of her who is my foe, Glory and pride of all that Heaven can show; When I behold her with my body's eye, The sun have I beheld, and blind am I. Oh bitter bonds of Love, though fraught with pleasure! Oh, mighty beyond measure, Love's hand! that thus couldst steal The bliss which thou didst promise to reveal Unto mine eyes, when, in my freedom's hour, I mocked at thee, thy bow and quiver's power. What loveliness! what hands as white as snow, Thou tyrant, didst thou show! How wearied wert thou grown, When first the noose upon my neck was thrown! And even thou hadst fallen in the fray Were Galatea not alive to-day. She, she alone, on earth alone was found To deal the cruel wound Within the heart of me. And make a vassal of the fancy free, That would as steel or marble be displayed, Did it not yield itself to love the maid.