'Tis not for him to change or face or hue Because the lord he serveth changeth face Or hue, since he no lord hath to constrain Him with mute tongue to follow and pursue-- As Clytie did her golden lover chase-- The sweet or bitter pleasure he may gain. Nor doth he share the pain Of fearing that an idle, careless thought Within the thankless breast Of his lord may at last The memory of his loyal service blot, And thus be his the doom of banishment; His mien doth not present Other than what his healthy breast doth hold; Our ways, with falsehood blent, Do not compete with rustic knowledge old. Who such a life as this will hold in scorn? Who will not say that this is life alone, Which hath the comfort of the soul pursued? A courtier may in loathing from it turn. This makes its goodness unto him be known Who hath the good desired, the ill eschewed: Oh life of solitude, Wherein one doth his crowded joys refine! Oh pastoral lowliness, Higher than loftiness Of the most lofty and exalted line! Oh shady woodland, flowers whose fragrance fills The air, pellucid rills! I for a moment brief could taste your bliss, But that my constant ills Soon would disturb so fair a life as this! Song, thou dost go to where thy poverty, To where thy wealth will all too soon be seen, Say thou with prayerful mien And humble, if but breath be given thee; "Lord, pardon! he who sends me to thy side, In thee and in his wishes doth confide." 'This, gentlemen, is Lauso's song,' said Damon on finishing it; 'which was as much extolled by Larsileo as it was well received by those who saw it at the time.' 'With reason you can say so,' replied Darinto, 'since its truth and workmanship are worthy of just praises.'