The luckless hour I curse, in very deed, When I, alas! said yea, Vesture to change,—so fair in that dusk wede I was and glad, whereas in this more gay A weary life I lead, Far less than erst held honest, welaway! Ah, dolorous bridal day, Would God I had been dead Or e’er I proved thee in such ill estate! O lover dear, with whom well pleased was I Whilere past all that be,— Who now before Him sittest in the sky Who fashioned us,—have pity upon me Who cannot, though I die, Forget thee for another; cause me see The flame that kindled thee For me lives yet unquenched And my recall up thither impetrate. At the end of the fourth day Filostrato sang: Weeping, I demonstrate How sore with reason doth my heart complain Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain. Love, whenas first there was of thee imprest Thereon her image for whose sake I sigh, Sans hope of succour aye, So full of virtue didst thou her pourtray, That every torment light accounted I That through thee to my breast, Grown full of drear unrest And dole, might come; but now, alack! I’m fain To own my error, not withouten pain. Yea, of the cheat first was I made aware, Seeing myself of her forsaken sheer, In whom I hoped alone; For, when I deemed myself most fairly grown Into her favor and her servant dear, Without her thought or care Of my to-come despair, I found she had another’s merit ta’en To heart and put me from her with disdain. Whenas I knew me banished from my stead, Straight in my heart a dolorous plaint there grew, That yet therein hath power, And oft I curse the day and eke the hour When first her lovesome visage met my view, Graced with high goodlihead; And more enamoured Than eye, my soul keeps up its dying strain, Faith, ardor, hope, blaspheming still amain. How void my misery is of all relief Thou may’st e’en feel, so sore I call thee, sire, With voice all full of woe; Ay, and I tell thee that it irks me so That death for lesser torment I desire. Come, death, then; sheer the sheaf Of this my life of grief And with thy stroke my madness eke assain; Go where I may, less dire will be my bane.