CIC. This meaning must be specified in some way, if we do not wish to see the motto invalidated by equivocation, by which we are free to suppose that he meant to say that his love was but for an instant--that is, for an atom of time, and of nothing more, or that he means that it is as you interpret it, everlasting. TANS. Surely, if these two contrary meanings were implied, the legend would be nonsense. But it is not so, if you consider well, for it cannot be that in one instant, which is an atom or point, love persists or endures; therefore one must of necessity understand the instant in another signification. And for the sake of getting out of the mesh, read the stanza: 38. One time scatters and one gathers; One builds, one breaks; one weeps, one laughs; One time to sadness, one to gaiety inclines; One labours and one rests; one stands, one sits; One proffers and one takes away; One stays and one removes; one animates, one kills. In all the years, the months, the days, the hours, Love waits on me, strikes, binds, and burns. To me continual dissolution, Continual weeping holds me and destroys. All times to me are full of woe; All things time takes from me, And gives me naught, not even death. CIC. I understand the meaning quite perfectly, and confess that all things agree very well. It is time to proceed to the next. XV. TANS. Here behold a serpent languishing in the snow, where a labourer has thrown it, and a naked child burning in the midst of the fire, with certain other details and circumstances, with the legend which says: "Idem, itidem non idem." This seems more like an enigma than anything else, and I do not feel sure that I can explain it at all; yet I do believe that it means that the same fate vexes, and the same torments both the one and the other--that is, immeasurably, without mercy and unto death, by means of various instruments or contrary principles, showing itself the same whether cold or hot. But this, it seems to me, requires longer and special consideration. CIC. Some other time. Read the lines: 39. Limp snake, that writhest in the snow, Twisting and turning here and there To find some ease from the tormenting cold, If the congealing ice could know thy pain, Or had the sense to feel thy smart, And thou couldst find a voice for thy complaint, I do believe thy argument would make it pitiful. I with eternal fire am scourged, am burnt, and bitten, And in the iciness of my divinity find no deliverance, No pity does she feel, nor can she know, alas! The rigorous ardour of my flames. 40.