ELICIO. His breast, who, wretched, follows in thy train, Love, by what miracle dost open wide? What glory from the wound doth he attain, The wound that thou didst deal him in his side? Whence from the loss thou sendest, comes the gain? And whence the joyous life when thou hast died? The soul that hath endured these at thine hand The cause, but not the ways can understand. ERASTRO. So many faces in a broken glass Are seen not, nor in glass formed with such art, That if one looks therein, one sees to pass A multitude portrayed in every part, As are the cares on cares that spring, alas! From that cruel care, which from my shattered heart Goes not away, though conqueror in the strife, Until it doth depart along with life. ELICIO. The white snow of her cheek, the crimson rose Which neither summer wastes nor winter's cold, The sun's twain morning-stars, wherein repose Soft Love doth find, the spot where time untold Shall guard the voice, strong to subdue our woes, As did hell's furies Orpheus' voice of old, The many charms I saw, though blind I ween, Have made me tinder for the fire unseen. ERASTRO. Twain apples rosy-red no tree can bear As those in Galatea's cheeks displayed; Iris herself could boast no bow so fair As the twain archèd eye-brows of the maid, Two rays of light, two threads, beyond compare, Of pearls 'twixt scarlet:--and if more be said-- The peerless graces which in her I find A cloud have made me to the amorous wind. ELICIO. I burn nor am consumed, I live and die, Far from myself am I and yet so near, I sink to hell, I rise to Heaven on high, One thing alone I hope, and yet I fear. Gentle, yet fierce--for what I loathe I sigh, To love thee racks my soul with torment drear, Thus step by step already am I come, Drawn in these different ways to my last doom. ERASTRO. Elicio, mark! how gladly would I pour At Galatea's feet all that she hath left To me in life, if but she would restore The heart and soul whereof I am bereft. My herd I would bestow, and furthermore My Spot and Hawk, if she would but the theft Forego: but ah! the goddess on her throne More than aught else would have my soul alone.