'Nothing will give us greater pleasure than to listen to you, discreet Damon,' replied Darinto, calling Damon by his name, for he already knew it from having heard the other shepherds, his friends, name him; 'and so I for my part beg you to repeat to us Lauso's song, for since it is composed, as you say, to suit my case, and you have committed it to memory, it will be impossible for it not to be good.' Damon began to repent of what he had said, and sought to escape from his promise; but the gentlemen and ladies and all the shepherds begged it of him so much, that he could not escape repeating it. And so, having composed himself a little, with admirable grace and charm he spoke in this wise: DAMON. The idle fancies that our minds do weave, Which hither and thither are buffeted In rapid flight by every wind that blows; Man's feeble heart, ever inclined to grieve, Set upon pleasures that are doomed to fade, Wherein it seeks, but findeth not, repose; The world that never knows The truth, the promiser of joyous pleasures; Its siren voice, whose word Is scarcely overheard, When it transforms its pleasures to displeasures; Babylon, chaos, seen and read by me In everything I see; The mood the careful courtier doth command-- Have set, in unity With my desire, the pen within my hand. I would my rude ill-shapen quill might rise, My lord, though brief and feeble be its flight, Unto the realms that my desire doth gain, So that the task of raising to the skies Thy goodness rare and virtue ever bright It might essay, and thus its wish attain. But who is there that fain Would on his shoulders cast so great a burden, Unless he is a new Atlas, in strength so true, That Heaven doth little weary him or burden? And even he the load will be compelled To shift, that he has held, On to the arms of a new Hercules, And yet such toil beheld, Although he bow and sweat, I count but ease.