MARSILIO. Oh steps that by steps bring Me to death's agonies I am constrained to blame your tardiness! Unto the sweet lot cling, For in your swiftness lies My bliss, and in such hour of bitterness. Behold, me to distress, The hardness of my foe Within her angry breast, Hostile unto my rest, Doth ever do what it was wont to do, And therefore let us flee, If but we can, from her dread cruelty. To what clime shall I go, Or to what land unknown To make my dwelling there, that I may be Safe from tormenting woe, From sad and certain moan, Which shall not end till it hath ended me? Whether I stay or flee To Libya's sandy plains Or to the dwelling-place Of Scythia's savage race, One thing alone doth mitigate my pain; That a contented mind I do not in a change of dwelling find. It wins me everywhere, The rigorous disdain Of her that hath no peer, my cruel foe, And yet an issue fair 'Tis not for me to gain From Love or hope amidst such cruel woe. Belisa, daylight's glow, Thou glory of our age, If prayers of a friend Have power thy will to bend, Temper of thy right hand the ruthless rage! The fire my breast doth hold, May it have power in thine to melt the cold. Yet deaf unto my cry, Ruthless and merciless, As to the wearied mariner's appeal The tempest raging by That stirs the angry sea, Threatening to life the doom unspeakable, Adamant, marble, steel, And rugged Alpine brow, The sturdy holm-oak old, The oak that to the cold North wind its lofty crest doth never bow, All gentle are and kind Compared unto the wrath in thee we find. My hard and bitter fate, My unrelenting star, My will that bears it all and suffereth, This doom did promulgate, Thankless Belisa fair, That I should serve and love thee e'en in death Though thy brow threateneth With ruthless, angry frown, And though thine eyes so clear A thousand woes declare, Yet mistress of this soul I shall thee crown, Until a mortal veil Of flesh no more on earth my soul conceal.