my breast, whenever I found myself at times alone or apart, I used to reveal it in some loving and mournful songs under the veil of a feigned name. And so one night, thinking that neither Timbrio nor anyone else was listening to me, to comfort somewhat my wearied spirit, in a retired apartment, to the accompaniment only of a lute, I sang some verses, which, as they placed me in the direst turmoil, I shall have to repeat to you. They were as follows: SILERIO. What labyrinth is this that doth contain My foolish and exalted fantasy? Who hath my peace transformed to war and pain, And to such sadness all my jollity? Unto this land, where I can hope to gain A tomb alone, what fate hath guided me? Who, who, once more will guide my wandering thought Unto the bounds a healthy mind hath sought? Could I but cleave this breast of mine in twain, Could I but rob myself of dearest life, That earth and Heaven, at last content, might deign To leave me loyal 'midst my passion's strife, Without my faltering when I feel the pain, With mine own hand would I direct the knife Against my breast, but if I die, there dies His hope of love; the fire doth higher rise. Let the blind god his golden arrows shower In torrents, straight against my mournful heart Aiming in maddened frenzy, let the power Of fiercest rage direct the cruel dart; For, lo, of happiness a plenteous store I gain, when I conceal the grievous smart; Ashes and dust though stricken breast become, Rich is the guerdon of my noble doom. Eternal silence on my wearied tongue The law of loyal friendship will impose, By whose unequalled virtue grows less strong The pain that never hopes to find repose; But, though it never cease, and seek to wrong My health and honour, yet, amidst my woes, My faith, as ever, shall more steadfast be Than firmest rock amidst the angry sea. The moisture that my weeping eyes distil, The duteous service that my tongue can do, The sacrifice I offer of my will, The happiness that to my toil is due, These gain sweet spoil and recompense; but still, 'Tis he must take them, he my friend so true; May Heaven be gracious to my fond design Which seeks another's good and loses mine.