MARSILIO. Ah! 'tis easy for the wind All the hopes to bear away That could ever be designed And could their foundations lay On vain fancies of the mind; For all hopes of loving gain, All the ways Time doth uncover, Wholly are destroyed and slain; But the while in the true lover _Faith, faith only, doth remain_. It achieves such potency That, despite disdain which never Offereth security, Bliss it promiseth me ever, Bliss that keeps the hope in me; And, though Love doth quickly wane In the angry breast and white That increaseth so my pain, Yet in mine, in its despite, _Faith, faith only, doth remain_. Love, 'tis true thou dost receive Tribute for my loyalty, And so much dost thou achieve That my faith did never die, It doth with my works revive; My content--'tis to thee plain-- And my glory all decays, As thy fury grows amain; In my soul as dwelling-place _Faith, faith only, doth remain_. But if it be truth declared And beyond all doubt have passed, That to faith glory is barred, I, who shall to faith hold fast, What hope I for my reward? Sense doth vanish with the pain That is pictured, all the bliss Flies and is not seen again, And amidst such miseries _Faith, faith only, doth remain_. With a profound sigh the hapless Marsilio ended his song, and straightway Erastro, handing over his pipe, without further delaying began to sing thus: ERASTRO. In my woe and suffering 'Midst the pleasures of my care, My faith is so choice a thing, That it flieth not from fear Neither unto hope doth cling; 'Tis not moved to agony, In its task of climbing high, To behold that joy hath fled, Nor to see that life is sped _Where faith lives and hope is dead_. This is wondrous 'midst my woe, Yet 'tis so that thus my bliss, If it comes, may come to show That amidst a thousand 'tis That to which the palm should go; Let not fame this truth deny But unto the nations cry With loud tongue that Love doth rest Firm and loyal in my breast _Where faith lives and hope is dead_.