171. ‘Giunto m’à Amor fra belle et crude braccia,’

Love’s caught me in a lovely harsh embrace,

that kills unjustly: and if I complain

he doubles my hurt: then it’s better to be

as I used to be, dying of love, and silent.

she’d burn the Rhine however deeply frozen

with her eyes, and shatter all its sharp rocks:

and she has pride equal to her beauty,

so that she regrets pleasing others.

I cannot soften that lovely diamond

with my wit, or that heart so hard:

the rest is marble that moves and breathes:

nor with all her disdain, nor her dark looks,

can she ever take my hope away from me,

nor ever take away my sweet sighs.