130. ‘Poi che ’l camin m’è chiuso di Mercede,’

Since the path to Mercy’s closed to me,

I travel on the road of despair, far

from those eyes where, by what fate who knows,

the reward for all my faith is set.

I feed the heart on sighs, it asks no more,

and, born to weep, I live on tears:

nor lament it, since in such a state

weeping’s sweeter than others might believe.

And I adhere to one image alone,

that no Zeuxis, Praxiteles, or Phidias made,

but a greater master, with a nobler art.

What Scythia or Numidia would be safe for me,

since, still dissatisfied with my shameful exile,

Envy finds me again, buried here?