No other way than death is left my spright, Ay, and none other solace for my dole; Then give it me straightway, Love; put an end withal to my dismay; Ah, do it; since fate’s spite Hath robbed me of delight; Gladden thou her, lord, with my death, love-slain, As thou hast cheered her with another swain. My song, though none to learn thee lend an ear, I reck the less thereof, indeed, that none Could sing thee even as I; One only charge I give thee, ere I die, That thou find love and unto him alone Show fully how undear This bitter life and drear Is to me, craving of his might he deign Some better harborage I may attain. Weeping I demonstrate How sore with reason doth my heart complain Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain. At the conclusion of the last story on the seventh day Filomena sings: Alack, my life forlorn! Will’t ever chance I may once more regain Th’estate whence sorry fortune hath me torn? Certes, I know not, such a wish of fire I carry in my thought To find me where, alas! I was whilere. O dear my treasure, thou my sole desire, That holdst my heart distraught, Tell it me, thou; for whom I know nor dare To ask it otherwhere. Ah, dear my lord, oh, cause me hope again, So I may comfort me my spright wayworn. What was the charm I cannot rightly tell That kindled in me such A flame of love that rest nor day nor night I find; for, by some strong unwonted spell, Hearing and touch And seeing each new fires in me did light, Wherein I burn outright; Nor other than thyself can soothe my pain Nor call my senses back, by love o’erborne. O tell me if and when, then, it shall be That I shall find thee e’er Whereas I kissed those eyes that did me slay. O dear my good, my soul, ah, tell it me, When thou wilt come back there, And saying “Quickly,” comfort my dismay Somedele. Short be the stay until thou come, and long mayst thou remain! I’m so love-struck, I reck not of men’s scorn. If once again I chance to hold thee aye, I will not be so fond As erst I was to suffer thee to fly; Nay, fast I’ll hold thee, hap of it what may, And having thee in bond, Of thy sweet mouth by lust I’ll satisfy. Now of nought else will I Discourse. Quick, to thy bosom come me strain; The sheer thought bids me sing like lark at morn.