96 ‘Io son de l’aspectar omai sí vinto,’

I’m so defeated now, in appearance,

and with the sighs of this long war,

that I’ve come to hate hope and desire,

and all the other nets that snare my heart.

But that sweet joyful face whose image I carry

engraved in my breast, and see wherever I gaze,

constrains me: I’m forced back against my will

into those torments that I first knew.

I erred then when the ancient path

of liberty was closed to me, removed:

what ill he follows who’s led by the eye,

then free and freely runs towards his ill:

the spirit that sinned a single time

must march now to another’s orders.