Ballate
BALLATA XIV
I pray ye gentles, ye who speak of grief,
Out of new clemency, for my relief
That ye disdain not to attend my pain.
I see my heart stand up before mine eyes,
While my self-slaying mournful soul receiveth
Love’s mortal stroke and in that moment dies,
Yea, in the very instant he perceiveth
Milady, and yet that smiling sprite who cleaveth
To her in joy, that very one is he
Who sets the seal of my mortality.
But should ye hear my sad heart’s lamentation
Then would a trembling reach your heart’s midmost.
For Love holds with me such sweet conversation
That Pity, by your sighs, ye would accost.
To all less keen than ye the sense were lost,
Nor other hearts could think soft nor speak loudly
How dire the throng of sorrows that enshroud me.
Yea from my mind behold what tears arise
As soon as it hath news of Her, Milady,
Forth move they making passage through the eyes
133
